Pirates of the Caribbean: The Sword of the Swan
by Willofthewisp
Summary: When a note for Jack containing nothing but a picture of a sword and some foreign writing finds its way to Shipwreck Cove, Jack must close a chapter of his past, having no idea how much that will affect his future. MY version of POTC4, ignores OST. J/E.
1. Prologue

**Hi, everyone! This story is mostly set one week after AWE and completely ignores OST, so you can consider it an AU fic if you want. I don't own the characters and have never claimed to. On with the show, er, story.**

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><p><em>Twenty-two Years Ago...<em>

_Italy_

_He knows so much more than he lets on, Oria thought, narrowing her eyes at Remo. Remo Benedetti smiled at her from across the table, the number of maps on top of it practically a tablecloth with yellowed tomes here and there weighing it down. His graying hair and lines at the edges of his eyes were the only hints he was anything other than a vivacious, restless youth prone to mischief- an older version of her son._

_ "I thought you might like these, Signora." Because he always called her "signora." "They are translations, Latin to Italian to Spanish to English and back again. Jack has quite the knack for them. These are passages from Dante, if you'd like to know."_

_ They spoke in Italian although she'd insisted Jackie be instructed in English most of the time. The pads of her fingers massaged her temple as she skimmed the jagged handwriting. Each letter added to her dull, pounding headache. She worked more hours than most men of her class, so it was understood between both of them she would have her money's worth._

_ "And his arithmetic?"_

_ "Adequate. There is barely a subject he struggles with so long as it holds his interest." Her eyes flew up, long lashes batting twice at some change in tone, some involuntary hint. _

_ "And is that a cause of concern?" she asked._

_ "Is what?"_

_ "Do you hold his interest?"_

_ "Of course," he said before clearing his throat. "Actually, Signora, I think I should share more with you. You are aware of Jack's plans for the future?"_

_ "He wants to be a merchant sailor," she recited. Did he find her simple? Did he assume Jackie's mouth stopped working at home? She'd known for years, before Jackie knew himself, that the __sea and everything it offered called to him louder than most. _

_ "Might I suggest, then, you allow him to learn to..." He threw a disarming grin at her, but was meant with a stern frown. "...learn to defend himself? Swordsmanship, weaponry..."_

_ "To fight."_

_ "Yes."_

_ Oria shifted her weight in the chair, allowing her to see the sword sheathed near Remo's belt. Cygnus, he called it, the tang made to look like silvery feathers leading to a swan's head pummel. His family crest, she presumed. Pretending to still give the matter some thought, she inspected his hands. Rough, strong, fresh nicks near the knuckles..._

_ "I see. And how long have I been paying you to play swords with my son, Remo?"_

_ "Signora, I don't know what you...two months." Remo sighed and threw his back against the chair._

_ "Two months? Reading, literature, geography, history, arithmetic, and science! That was our agreement!"_

_ "And I have not shirked in any of them!" Remo's hands flew up in self-defense. A thicker cut rode along his palm. Did Jackie's hands have the same wounds? She couldn't remember any, nor any attempt on his part to hide them from her. "Jack has even paid me for the lessons himself."_

_ "How?"_

_ "He gave me a bag of gold one day he said was from his father."_

_ Oria unleashed a snort. Of course. Jackie had been hoarding. It was the first and last time he'd gone sailing with his father and the next thing Oria knew, Jackie had come home by himself with two bags. "My share," he'd said, failing to inform her one of them was actually John's. And here she'd thought he'd finally spent all of it. Closing her eyes, she tried to summon an image of John Teague, her headache reminding her it had been years._

_ "Signora..."_

_ "This stops now. You can keep whatever he's given you, but it stops. That is his punishment."_

_ "Signora, if I may, he has shown some skill, but he has much still to learn."_

_ "I don't see his hands as cut up as yours."_

_ "Because I still use a wooden sword with him. He uses Cygnus. Don't think the child can outdo the master in such a short time!" he laughed, a boisterous, proud laugh she would have found charming at any other time. "A blade is not a bad thing to have out in open water. He can defend his ship, defend his crew, defend himself...and right now, his defensive maneuvers...there is much to be desired," he laughed again, quieter. "You had said when you hired me as his tutor to give him everything necessary to make him succeed, did you not?"_

_ "Keeping it from me..."_

_ "I have kept it from my own wife! She'll think I've started a blood feud with your family! Forgive me if I do not show much guilt in keeping it a secret from you! You don't know much about swans, do you, Signora?"_

_ Her blood boiled at the accusation of being ignorant about anything, but she had to shake her head, thick waves of jet black hair falling out her bun. _

_ "Graceful, quick, and some say, beautiful." He grinned. "But you rile one up enough and it will strike. They have even been known to keep what threatens them under the water for as long as possible. It can be hard to imagine in some, but that is what must be taught to anyone who wishes to venture off at sea."_

_ Oria inhaled, that sickening sound of clanging metal echoing in her mind, shadows of men just barely poking out from the smoke-filled air. There was blood. A splatter here or there wasn't enough for her to determine if it was the blood of her son or the blood of his enemy._

_ "Signora?"_

_ "May I borrow that, Remo? Just for the night. Jackie will bring it back with him tomorrow."_

_ "Oh..." He pouted as his hands encircled the silver swan's head on top of the sword. His bottom lip fell a few times, straining to form words. "He'll...he'll know I told you..."_

_ "There, there, Remo," Oria said, holding back a snort. "I'll make sure he knows I forced it out of you."_

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><p><em>"Mum?" Jackie stumbled across the threshold of their cottage, shrouded in darkness save for one meager candle on the kitchen table. He heard the excited trotting of the dogs coming his way, their eyes beginning to gleam in that feral, ferocious way he liked. All smoke and mirrors, he thought, the moment they reached him, balancing themselves on their hind legs just for a quick pat. "Where's Mum?" he asked them, shaky paws and panting tongues failing to give him any clues.<em>

_ A hard thud perked his face up like a fox. It came from his room. Narrowing his eyes, he stood still and listened. No other sound followed, but the one had been enough to stop his heart. He stood frozen a moment longer, scanning the darkness for some form, some shape. Nothing._

_ He threw his back against the hallway, the scruff of his shirt crinkling up on his neck. Teague had found them. It's the only explanation! He'd hired spies or bounty hunters or something like that in his desperation for his share of the treasure...and his revenge. Plausibility gave way to certainty that Mum was tied to some bed in a captains' cabin, maybe leagues away by now, waiting for Teague to come and do dark, vague things to her...after he slit his boy's throat first, though._

_ It was this thought that made Jackie crouch down duck-walk into his room, imagining himself able to pounce up on the assailant like a jungle cat and avoiding any and all mishaps that could befall his throat..._

_ "Gah!"_

_ He'd bumped right into a hard shin bone. Reeling himself away as the figure stepped backwards, Jackie ran and adjusted the lamplight._

_ "Mother and Child, Jackie! I'm going to have a bruise!"_

_ "Mum?"_

_ There his mother stood at the foot of his bed, rubbing her leg with one hand and in the other holding... Don't look at it, he told himself, his eyes glancing up at the ceiling. Only someone who knew that sword would look at it and you don't know it, do you? Certainly not!_

_ "Serves me right, trying to give you a scare before laying into you," she grumbled. The dogs, never far from Jackie, found their respective territories on the floor and circled down into a resting position. "I didn't even get to point this at you. You know what this is, don't you?"_

_ "It's a sword."_

_ "And who's sword?"_

_ Jackie shrugged. "Yours, if we're playing by finders-keepers rules." He swallowed and added, "It's not mine."_

_ "No, not yours. Just your tutor's."_

_ Never again would he decide to go play when Remo and his mother talked alone. He'd stay for every word next time, now that those words would include fighting practice. _

_ "What were you thinking starting all this without telling me?"_

_ "Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission."_

_ "I see you're not doing either," she snapped. _

_ "Mum, it's for sailing!" he whined, disgusted with himself for choosing the last resort so quickly. It's always better to convince them you don't care, he reminded himself. But bloody hell, I do care! "I'm paying Remo for it, and it's only for half an hour a day...after lessons. I can't sit in that chair all day long and read about everyone else getting to go off and see the world and have adventures and..." he trailed off, folding his arms and looking away. So much for acting like you don't care, mate. Shut it._

_ "I already had this discussion today," Mum said with the calm, serious tone she always used when he frustrated her. "Supposedly, one can defend himself on a ship with this, although I see a pistol being more practical."_

_ "Does that mean...?"_

_ "No! It means that if you are going to learn to use this properly, there must be a few rules." She sat on his bed and motioned for him to join her. The dogs tilted their heads but didn't rise. _

_ "You've already found a teacher. Congratulations." Jackie managed to read her eyes without gazing into them, a skill he began practicing on everyone now. However, with Mum he still became tripped up on whether she was being sardonic at times. "Next, you cannot start a fight with anyone. Ever. Wooden sword or not. I didn't raise a bully. Besides, if word got out that the young Jackie...what did you say you wanted to be called?"_

_ "Sparrow."_

_ "That young Jackie Sparrow could fight as good as a pirate, that could mean trouble for our little family." Mum lifted the blade and examined it, meeting her reflection in it. "Next rule, other than me, you can't tell anyone you know how. Last, once you have a real one for yourself, which will be far, far into the future from now, you'll understand it's a weapon. It's fun to practice with Remo, yes?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ "It won't be so fun when you're fighting for your life. These things deserve respect. You'll do all of that?"_

_ "I swear."_

_ "Are you telling the truth?"_

_ "Every word!"_

_ "Good." She smiled at him and placed the sword in his lap. "So show me what you've been learning."_


	2. Teague

Captain John Teague prowled the corridors of Shipwreck Cove like a phantom, his footfalls and the sudden creak here and there providing the only sound, save for the occasional muffled sob from his King. She'd spent the first two days after the battle sleeping; the tolls of war and loss wore down her young body. Teague suggested she leave the corner room she'd claimed for herself only to see her shadow dart out once in a while gathering supplies for a bath. She'd spent the first week after that sleeping and bathing, trimming that rat's nest that had once been hair to her mid-back. When he suggested she eat to regain her strength, she almost cleaned out the larder all on her own. Speechless, she'd sit across the table from him and devour whatever was on the plate like a ravenous bird of prey.

This Elizabeth woman needed to fly off and stretch her wings before she goes mad and pecks my eyes out, he thought, his hand hovering over the doorknob leading to her room. She'd be asleep, he knew. With the amount she ate at dinner, there couldn't be any alternative. Perhaps she would welcome an invitation to go on a raid. God knew the _Golden Queen _needed to soar, too.

"Message for ye, Captain."

Shipwreck Cove boasted a few permanent residents, Teague, of course, and roughly a thousand families of all nationalities and creeds, mostly women and children who somehow managed to create a society while their men pirated. Harry, a young, squire sort of boy, came bounding down the corridor with a letter in his hand.

"Hush now. Your King's retired for the night."

"Sorry!" he blurted, and then clasped his free hand over his mouth. "But I just got back and there was a gentleman who..."

"Slow down. That's it. Deep breath." Teague slapped his back. "Now, boy, explain to me how Shipwreck Cove gets mail of all things."

"Da took me out with him this time! All the way to Nova Scotia this time, and there was a man there that said he knew all about Shipwreck Cove and when I was to come back, to give this to Jack Sparrow if he happened to be by."

"He's not here."

"No, sir, I know he ain't, but I thought..." Harry bit his lip. "I didn't know what else to do. Da and Mum both said we couldn't go lookin' for him, had better things to do."

"We all do," Teague muttered, gesturing for the letter. No address, not even a name written on it. Plain as could be, it offered no hints as to the contents. "Well be off with ya, boy! What if this is a family matter?" Harry nodded and ran off with all the satisfaction one feels when completing a mission.

Opening the message and peering down at the single piece of paper, he inhaled. Maybe now it was time for the bird to remember she had wings.

He turned the knob and barged into the near-empty room. The Dead Man's Chest pounded underneath a small-but-layered brass bed with a curled up mound in the covers. For an absurd moment, Teague thought, his lip twitching, he didn't know what to call her. He settled on the least specific title his mind could form.

"You. You." He nudged her forehead. A few golden brown locks parted for him.

"What is it?" Elizabeth groaned, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

"Thought ye might take an interest in this." He adjusted the lamp hanging over the bed and dropped the letter into her lap.

Her eyes widened, but only to adjust. A tired, gaunt face glanced at it before she extended it back to him with a grunt. "I don't know what this is."

"That's a swan on that sword, there. That's not your family crest?"

"Captain Teague," she said with some bite. "There are a great many people in the world named Swann who are of no relation to me. I've never seen that sword or a drawing of that sword." Sighing, she threw the covers over her head.

"Then Jackie must have told you what this is." The covers flew back off.

"I've never heard of it! Why don't you try to read that scribbling next to it and let me be?"

"I can't. I thought you might know it. It looks Italian."

"_Je parle anglais et français_."

Teague rose an eyebrow and took the letter again. A drawing of a sword took up the entire left side, a few lines of foreign writing on the other. Scribbling, indeed, he thought, looking at the letters written in a short, boxy sort of way.

"Harry?" he called into the hall.

"Captain Teague, you are in a lady's room, uninvited, and it's rather late..."

"It's only nine, my dear, and it's not often intrigue finds its way here. Harry?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Where did you say you got this?"

"In Nova Scotia, with Da. We were sailing..."

"Come to the point. The man who gave it to you."

"Oh! Elderly gentleman, spectacles and all. He spoke French, but it had this funny accent to it, not like how the French talk at all. He said Jack Sparrow needed to see this and would understand what it meant. Begging his pardon since he's not here, but I thought giving it to you would be the next best thing. I'm not in trouble, am I, Captain?" Harry asked.

"No, boy, no. Wasn't a Navy man, was he? Wore a uniform?"

"No, just a regular gentleman." At last taking the time to pause and take in his surroundings, his eyes drifted to Elizabeth, still sitting up in bed. The legends painted her a warrior woman, right up there with Budicaa and Joan of Arc, Harry remembered, but now she looked no different than a common girl with sleep in her eyes. She avoided eye contact with him.

"Do you think Jack is in trouble?" she asked after a long while, although Teague couldn't be sure if her whisper was out of concern or resignation. Maybe both.

"Best find him and get to the bottom of this then, hadn't we...your Grace?" Pretending he saw her nod, he turned to Harry. "First things first, I suppose, is we find Jackie."

"It's a wild goose chase you'll be wanting then!" Harry said. "He could be anywhere. The stories all say the wind likes to pick him up and take him where it will. It suits him fine, but one day he's in China and the next in Denmark at a moment's notice!"

Elizabeth snorted. "More likely he's in Tortuga in a battle of wits with Barbossa."

"How's that?"

"When I left." She paused and swallowed hard, Teague noticed. "When I left, Jack and Barbossa were both on the _Pearl_. That can't last long." She met their empty expressions with a shrug. "If Jack won, then maybe you're right and he could be anywhere, but I'd start in Tortuga. And if he lost then he'll be finding a way to chase after, but either way, I'd start there."

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><p><strong>AN: The chapters will get longer. Promise. Like all (hopefully) good stories, some setup is required. I always envisioned Shipwreck Cove being something like a town with a "town hall" of sorts that has rooms above it, so that is where Elizabeth is wallowing right now. Teague has his own cottage, but he's been staying there to keep an eye on her. Please leave a review. Thanks. **


	3. Gibbs

"...so there we all were, drenched in Calypso's own tears, when the Navy swung onto the _Pearl_, each one thicker than the last. Might not have known we was headin' straight for a maelstrom, but there you are. Swords drawn, we met them and hacked at everything we could, the helm spinnin' out of control. Barbossa was the only one who'd sailed long enough to stop it and keep us a hair's length from disaster."

The painted ladies encircling him at the table gasped, leaning over more and more to hear the same tale he'd spun moments ago. But a cupid-faced little redhead had wrenched a couple of her friends from some sailing men and had brought them over. "Mr. Gibbs, tell us again how you were there the day the Lord Beckett died." The other girls raced to find seats, and with a hearty laugh and a swig of rum, Gibbs chuckled and started again.

"Mr. Gibbs?"

Glancing up without leaving his seat, Gibbs' easy going grin disappeared.

"Mr. Gibbs," Anamaria said with her hands on her hips, trousers and an ill-fitting blouse a sharp contrast from the ragged dresses around him. She unsheathed a sword and began a brisk march to him. "More than a year later and I remember being promised a ship!" The girls shrieked and scattered when she charged.

"Now, now wait!" He bolted up and drew his sword, pints of rum splashing onto the floor. "That promise didn't have nothin' to do with me, remember." He blocked a swing.

"'A better one.' That's what was said!" Anamaria's sword hit the table. Grunting, she picked it up. "Take me to Jack. Now! I swore if I ever saw your sorry faces in Tortuga again, I'd make you pay. Lucky me."

Gibbs grabbed his mug and smashed it into the face of the burly man at the other table whose back had been to him the entire time. The man held his head in his massive hand for two seconds before plowing into his companion.

Patrons from the other side of the bar joined in the scuffle, sounds of glass shattering and bodies hitting the rough wooden floor everywhere. Gibbs frowned at the inability to take one last sip and sprang for the staircase, the brawlers the only thing keeping Anamaria from nipping at his heels. It seemed like it went on forever until at last he reached the second floor. He fumbled around trying to guess which of the rooms might be empty until he caught sight of Anamaria reaching the stairs.

"You've hidden from me long enough!" she barked up to him, the brawl unable to drown her out.

Gibbs sprinted down the hall wishing like hell he'd had that last sip and threw himself into one of the rooms. Yellow blankets and pillows and amateur paintings of canaries—no people. Good, Gibbs thought. He could push the armoire against the door and...and what, he asked himself, looking around. There was a small alcove to the right, probably for the wash basin and a few towels, and a large window on the wall parallel to the door. The thin yellow curtains in front of it not allowing for much invisibility.

Staring at the door, he heard the familiar sound of a pistol cocking behind him. Someone after all, if that don't beat all... Gibbs turned.

"Mr. Gibbs?"

"Jack?"

There was no time for clarification. Anamaria broke through the door, pistol first.

"Oh ho!" she laughed. "Both of you! The only way I could be any luckier is if I actually had a ship..."

Gibbs felt an arm close over him and the barrel of a pistol press into his temple.

"He's my first mate and I say I get to shoot him first!" Jack cried, walking backwards and taking Gibbs with him.

"What?" Anamaria spat.

"What?" Gibbs repeated.

"You heard me. I've been looking for this loathsome sot for over a week now."

"Jack, no tricks," Anamaria ordered. "As far as I'm concerned, you both owe me a ship to replace the one you stole!"

"And since I don't have one and vengeance thus being the only course of action left, that is to what we must resort and age does come before beauty." They were right up against the curtains now. Gibbs could feel the cool air tapping on the glass.

"Jack, whatever you're thinking about doing...please don't do it," he choked, Jack's grip on him tightening.

"Why not? I fancy one of you will thank me later." With that, he hurled the both of them through the glass and out the window. The rush of air stung Gibbs' face, his heart not knowing whether to stop or speed up at falling backward. Before he could scream, could even think, he hit something soft. He and Jack rolled off each other to find themselves in a wagon filled to the brim with hay. The horses pulling it ahead of them clomped along as the driver looked back. He rose an eyebrow at them and tipped his hat, and then turned around back to his business.

Anamaria's silhouette was still in the broken window, probably cursing and trying to deduce where it was taking them, Gibbs guessed.

"Can't leave you alone for a week, mate," Jack grunted, finally sitting up.

"Sweet Mother, I thought you was goin' after the _Pearl_!"

"A few complications arose...dinghy complications, specifically."

"Well, I'd suggest we go commandeer a real ship, but that's what got us into this mess in the first place, ain't it?" Gibbs laughed and then sighed. "Still, the _Pearl_, Jack! It boils the blood to think Barbossa's got her, goin' God knows where. You don't know where, do ya?"

He knew from experience Jack was always tempted to lie rather than say the words "I don't know," but the sudden melancholia that came over him gave Gibbs his answer. "Well then, guess the next best thing to do is get ourselves a ship, eh? Might be something available for what we got in our pockets that won't sink."

"Now that sounds like an utterly depressing plan," Jack said, still frowning. He backed up to sit against the edge of the wagon. Draping his arms over it, he leaned his head back in thought. Not knowing what else to do, Gibbs leaned his head back, too, star-gazing.

"There are no less than a hundred places I know to either buy a sieve of a boat..." Jack grimaced. "...or commandeer a shoddy-to-average one for sure, or I know one place where we might be given an adequate ship. Not for sure," he added. "Which do you prefer?"

"Given a ship?" He tried to read Jack's face. "Where...the Cove?"

"Not far from here." Jack played with a single bit of hay, bending it and twisting it around his fingers. "Could slip in and slip out."

About to agree, they both gave each other a look and turned towards the front of the wagon.

"Wait! Stop!" Anamaria ran up to it, flailing her arms.

"Bugger," Jack muttered.

"Sir, I'll give you a shilling if you let me ride along with these two," she said, tossing her hair in their direction. The wagon came to a full halt and she climbed up, tipping the driver and plopping down in the hay with them. "How pleasant to see everyone again. What should we talk about?"

"We were already having a conversation that was most diverting," Jack said.

"About where the two of us were going," Gibbs added.

"Well, gentlemen, I have nothing better to do than make your lives a living hell until I get what was promised to me, so I guess you mean where the three of us are going," she said with a smirk.

"I hear Shipwreck Cove might have several available ships," Gibbs said.

"One can only hope."

Gibbs gave out a satisfied laugh, barely feeling the wagon totter over an increasingly bumpy road. Once one accomplished the feat of docking the ship...called Shipwreck Cove for a reason, he repeated to himself, one could find a wide variety of pleasures and comforts, as well as a new tale from some far side of the world. Truth be told, he thought, he wanted to check that Elizabeth Swann, well, Turner now, was there, safe and sound. It hadn't felt right, sending her off in a longboat all alone, and her brief smile to him panged his heart. Having a woman onboard had somehow managed to save them all. He'd enjoy himself at the Cove...in a more subdued and gentlemanly manner than here...and then they would all be one step closer to the _Pearl, _one step closer to home.

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><p><strong>AN: "Whatever you're thinking about doing...please don't do it," is borrowed from the thriller _Misery_. Once again, I don't own POTC, just trying to do it more justice than the last movie did...did I just write that? Please don't sue me, Disney!**


	4. Alberich

_Twenty-one Years Ago_

_Singapore_

_ "Boy. Boy!" Lieutenant Henry Alberich bellowed, grunting at the effort. He placed his elbow on the counter while he waited, sighing into the hot, bustling area. The laughter and conversations of his friends in the dining area echoed back to him, reminding him every second these cheap, flea-bitten urchins kept him here, he was not there. England's kitchen boys knew their place. This group that sailed with them to Singapore for work left much to be desired. Tapping his nails on the counter, he snorted. _

_ "What can I do you for?" the lad asked, ever amiable and calm, no matter the commotion behind him. Jack, this one, and the only reason he ever remembered was because this was the boy that, after every time he served him, would add some audacious, "tell your friends Jack Sparrow made that scrapple" or some similar remark. _

_ "This tart is undercooked," Alberich said. "Did you make it?" He slid the blueberry tart across the counter where Jack picked it up and looked it over._

_ "Not my doing, mate." Always "mate" and never "sir," Alberich noted with a sneer. "I'll see what I can scrounge up, eh?"_

_ "'Scrounge up'? You're going to make another one and bring it out to me without charging me."_

_ "Oy! No charge, but foreman says we're to start on supper. There should be a fresh lot over on the rack over there..." Alberich gripped the edges of the counter to keep from climbing over it and strangling him. _

_ "I don't care what your foreman says, Sparrow! I swear, the Navy's one mistake was hiring civilians to come out to Singapore and plague us with their incompetence. Your foreman may give you the day to day orders, but one word from me to the admiral and you and your mother are on the next ship back to whatever rat hole you crawled out of. Is that clear?" _

_ "Yep! Fresh lot, just as I said." Jack scurried over to a rack, past some steam curling up from boiling pots. He disappeared from view and, like magic, popped out right behind the counter again. A tart on a new plate set between them._

_ "I'll just sample this one if you don't mind."_

_ "You do that, mate. Tarts don't usually mind sampling out here and there."_

_ After rolling the bitten-off piece in his mouth, he chewed it up and swallowed, his suspicious eyebrows and mouth loosening into smug contentment. _

_ "A hundred times better than the last one."_

_ "Glad it meets your criteria. Overhearing you and your esteemed colleagues, I'd wager you know everything there is to know about tarts."_

_ "Everything about tarts?"_

_ "Oh, yes. Ye see," Jack began, his hands coming up to gesture the way most Italian trash gestured. They'd come from Italy, he knew, but the boy was as English...lowbrow English, as the rest of them aside from his gestures. "Nothing's worse than a frigid tart, like the one you returned here." He tapped it against the counter. "Solid as a rock. No way to penetrate it. Now, maybe an undercooked tart's worse, but I doubt it. At least they seem to want to be eaten, if ye get my drift. The one you've got now, that's high quality tart, mate. Guaranteed to satisfy. I could put some more sugar on it if you're the sort that spares no expense, but you wanted this one for free, you said. Savor it, mate. They don't typically like giving something for nothing."_

_ Alberich glared down at the tart and then back up at Jack. Shaking his head, he squared his shoulders, only able to mutter, "Guttersnipe." He turned with an about-face and began to march back to his table._

_ "Oh, Lieutenant, on a serious note." The pause was meant for him to turn back around. This should be rich, he thought._

_ "Ye might want to show a little more gratitude to those who prepare your food."_

_ Alberich stomped back to the counter._

_ "Are you threatening me?" he growled._

_ "No, mate. It's just a shaky world in here." Jack's fingers fluttered up into the air for effect. "Who knows what may happen between the bowl and the oven, and from the oven to your mouth, hmm? Enjoy that tart, mate." _

_ From the corner of his eye, Alberich saw no other officers close to the doorway. In a split second, his gripped the boy's shirt and hurled him into the racks. A short, shrill cry when his back collided right into the metal corners made him long to do it again. Jack scrambled to his feet, his boots spreading some flour around on the floor. The other boys came into view. Two bent down to help while the other two stood there, knowing immediately what had happened. Let them know, Alberich thought, his chin jutting out. Take heed, mutts. Take heed._

* * *

><p><em>Weeks went by and Alberich enjoyed his breakfasts and suppers and the occasional banquet in peace, hobnobbing with the most praised of his peers, privileged young men who were the latest in a long string of military legacies. Commodores and even the Admiral often sat in and shared stories of their past, giving generic advice before indulging the young officers in some grisly pirate battle. Sure the enlisted heard stories like that all the time, Alberich listened all the more intently, usually leaning forward in his chair, the maiming and bloodshed bodily trophies, proof the Navy dominated the seas and knew better than any pirate scum how to claim a ship for one's own.<em>

_ He'd hobnobbed so well Captain Sheldon delegated the Admiral's birthday banquet down to him. "Nothing frilly or pretentious, but a feast is the tradition. I'll give you a menu for the cooks to prepare. You organize a few speeches and toasts, maybe some entertainment from the locals...shouldn't be at all difficult."_

_ Entertainment in Singapore and speeches in ambitious young men came easy, Alberich had found, but he found himself gulping and sick to his stomach at the fact he would be depending on the kitchen boys._

_ "Look lively," he said for the thousandth time to one of the smaller ones. "Ducks don't roast themselves."_

_ "Be bloody funny if they did," one of them said, the one slicing vegetables. Perhaps Jack had riled them up, he thought, his eyes widening. No less than a dozen sharp knives were in easy reach of just this one boy. He raised his hand when the boy moved, only to lower it when he saw the boy reaching for butter. _

_ "How's these rolls look, sir?" another one asked him, waving a large basket under his nose._

_ "Quite adequate..."_

_ "John."_

_ "John. Go on out and start on the tablecloths now." He watched the boy place the basket down and mumble, "John! It's the simplest name there is! How do you forget it?" as he went. Everything was running with ship-like precision, Alberich thought, suddenly pacing the kitchen in search of Jack. He found him hunched over at the fireplace, stirring a cauldron. _

_ "What have we here?" Alberich asked him with a detached professionalism, his hands behind his back._

_ "Soup."_

_ "And is it about ready?"_

_ "Almost."_

_ "Sparrow," Alberich coughed. "This is an important night for everyone here. You have the chance to show the Admiral the extent of your abilities, as do I. So if any thoughts crossed your mind about sabotaging it in order to make me look bad..."_

_ "It had crossed my mind."_

_ The unreadable expression plastered on Jack's face gave Alberich a shiver. Not once did he look up from the stirring, nor did he display any of the gall he most likely called charm. _

_ "Good."_

_ "Don't you want to know why I changed my mind?" Jack asked, setting the wooden spoon aside and collecting the bowls on the counter next to him. "I realized the Admiral has a lot on his plate. Now, don't get too addled, Alberich. These are bowls I'm holding, not plates, and I'm not meaning literally."_

_ "I'd guessed that," Alberich snapped._

_ "Just wanting to make sure all this kitchen business isn't flying over your head. As I was saying, the Admiral has his own affairs to see to and he's never done any wrong by me. In fact, the officers in general, while loud, lewd, and as a whole ungrateful, have never done me any personal offense...or threatened my mum and me."_

_ "A sensible conclusion. These are good men, Sparrow."_

_ "They are, they are," he uttered, scooping some soup into the ladle. "You can test this if you like." He loomed over Alberich as he sampled the soup. "My back's feeling better, by the way."_

_ "Is it? Grand."_

_ "You should be going to your seat now," Jack said, setting the ready bowls of soup on a tray. "Don't want to keep good men waiting."_

_ The night had just began, but Alberich still breathed a sigh of relief at just how, how splendidly it all was going. Everyone had found their places, the furls and flourishes all executed without fail, and even the local dancers had arrived early. Allowing himself to relax, he started up conversation with the lieutenant next to him while drinks and rolls were passed around the table. Topics varied as they always did, but roast duck kept cropping up again and again, the Admiral's favorite. When Jack appeared with two trays full of soup bowls, the officers groaned._

_ "No offense, just eager for the duck," the Admiral apologized, giving Jack a smile. No need to be so sheepish, Alberich thought. After serving the Admiral, Jack made his way down the table and placed a bowl of soup down in front of him. Making sure the Admiral had already dipped in his spoon, Alberich followed suit, inhaling so as to take in more of the beef broth aroma and something else he couldn't quite place. The rolls had only tantalized his appetite and he couldn't wait for more. The soup reached his lips..._

_ "Good Lord, this tastes like piss!" he screamed, standing up in his chair, his napkin flying up to his face. Spitting and gagging, he made the mistake of looking down into the bowl. An unrelenting urge to retch came over him as he knelt over his chair. Waiting for the inevitable, his eyes darted around the room. Everyone else was still in their chairs, mouths opened in shock. Had they not tasted it? Couldn't they detect piss when they were near it? Meeting the Admiral's eyes last, he swallowed the spittal and phlegm that almost seeped out of him._

_ "Henry, are you all right?"_

_ "The soup, sir! The soup!" he hissed, his voice already hoarse._

_ "It's delicious. Yours..." the Admiral trailed off, looking around the table for guidance. "I take it yours isn't."_

_ "No, sir! Jack, the kitchen boy, sir, he's pissed in my soup!"_

_ A few lieutenants and captains laughed, the Admiral unsure if he should. He sat there with a shocked expression, shifting his weight and interlocking his fingers in thought. Dabbing a few blotches on his uniform, Alberich scanned the room for Jack. Nowhere in sight, he noticed, turning redder by the second and trying not to lick his lips._

_ "I suppose, er, Henry, you oughtn't anger the people who make the food around here," the Admiral said, slowly, but with enough amusement to redden Alberich's face further. The officers' laughter increased and then immediately died down, dinner conversation erasing the incident from the evening. _

* * *

><p><em>It had taken a month, but it was going to be well worth it. Alberich stood against the wall next to the watchman, listening to the domestic, hurried sounds coming from the kitchen. <em>

_ "Where are the garlic cloves?"_

_ "Coming through here! Watch yourself!"_

_ "These crackers shouldn't be stale already."_

_ All a glorious overture, Alberich chuckled to himself. He spent the last month passing fellow officers who snickered and nicknamed him Pisser. It all died down, of course, but the stigma would remain. Even if he made it to admiral, there would scarcely be a banquet or party to attend where someone wouldn't bring it up. The Navy was smaller than people presumed. But now he'd have his revenge. A little suggestion here and there, growing friendly with some of the locals and having them recommend native dishes- it wrote itself, really. Right now, some fishermen were unloading their catch and imagining everything on which they could spend their newly acquired gold it had taken Alberich this long to save._

_ "Make way, make way," he heard a sarcastic voice from the kitchen._

_ "Bloody hell! What are those?"_

_ "Eels. Ugly buggers, aren't they?"_

_ "What we gonna make with eels?"_

_ "Recipe's here," one of them said. Sounds of searching reached Alberich's ears. "Here it is. We saute it with the garlic and add white wine. Sounds simple."_

_ Simple it may be, Alberich smirked. But entertaining as well. _

_ "Jack, can you get that?"_

_ Alberich grinned, folding his arms across his chest. He longed to stroll up to the counter and look in on the action, but was content to simply listen. He wouldn't have to see Jack go up to the fishermen. Somewhere he'd heard that only Jack had picked up enough of the language to deal with the locals, as if it were some magic skill that granted him equal standing with an officer. The same rotten blood that had coursed through his family's veins for generations that kept them insolent, for he'd heard the mother had quite the sharp tongue too, would keep them poor, keep Sparrow the same guttersnipe he was now._

_ A deep guttural scream followed by crashes and speedy footsteps echoed out to where Alberich stood._

_ "Son of a bitch!" he heard Jack wail. _

_ "Kill it!"_

_ "How'd they get a live one in here?"_

_ "Never mind that. Kill it!"_

_ Unable to hold it in any longer, Alberich unleashed a hearty laugh. He still held onto his sides when Jack burst through the door, clutching his limp upper arm. His white shirt sported splashes of blood, speckles of it on his hands. Teeth gritted, eyes cold and hard, he stomped up to him, wincing every other second from the wound._

_ "I'm sorry, did I anger the people who make my food again?" Alberich stuck out his arm to pinch the bite, only for Jack to rebuff him. _

_ "Draw your sword," he coughed._

_ "I beg your pardon?"_

_ "Draw your sword, you stupid, sycophantic whelp of a whore." _

_ Alberich gazed down. Sure enough, the boy had a sword at his side._

_ "Where did you of all people get a sword?"_

_ "I bought it," Jack said, giving him a dumbfounded expression. "Now draw. I trained with an expert, the best swordsman Sicily had to offer, before I came here and I know a dozen ways to make you look like a sliced sausage, so let's have at it."_

_ Scoffing, Alberich found his hand unsheathing his sword and bringing it up to the clangy, shiny stick of a sword. He took the offensive first, driving Jack backwards towards the kitchen, his lunges long and practiced. But the boy could parry, he noted, feeling a few drops of sweat on his eyebrows. Short, curt movements, but effective. The most rational part of him knew his lips were dry and his heart in a whirl, but it went beyond showing an insolent kitchen boy his place. Good blood versus bad blood, master versus servant- his eyes widened at the prospect of running him through._

_ He was close to driving him back again, could drive him into that corner and come so close he would guard his face and not his middle. He hoisted his sword above him and swung it down right over Jack's head. The boy could block, pushing him back off of him at the same time. Alberich scrambled to angle his sword and shot it up over his head._

_ A searing pain entered the right side of his face and he slumped to the ground, cupping his ear with his hand. By this time, a few officers ran into the room, the kitchen boys standing around agape. With a trembling hand, Alberich took his wet hand away from his ear. Wet? Blood covered his fingers, along with..._

_ "You cut off my ear!"_

_ "You dumb blighter. You cut your own ear off," Jack argued before noticing the crowd gathered around them. "Not that I couldn't have done it myself."_

_ "What were you trying to do, Henry?" Lieutenant Mullens asked, helping Alberich up and pressing a cloth to where his ear had been. "He's just a boy."_

_ "A boy I'll see hanged for this!"_

_ The officers nodded in a collective, patronizing way, and led him out through the dining area, one of them glancing back at Jack. "Don't you worry, lad. Scuffles happen."_

_ "A scuffle?" Alberich roared. "A scuffle! Is that all you think a blatant attack on my life was? A scuffle?" They drowned him out with soothing talk of accidents and provocation, but he craned his neck to find Jack. He just stood there, steely-eyed and resolute, not even bothering to throw him an arrogant grin or brag to the other boys about his fight. It apparently wasn't worth his time. _

_ And that was the final straw that urged Henry Alberich to swear the ultimate vengeance on Jack Sparrow, no matter how long it took._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm pretty sure the word "hobnob" wasn't around back then, but it was the best word I could think of and it's older than "networking," so allow me a small anachronism. More of the characters you know and love will be reuniting in the next chapter...and some of them aren't quite sure how they feel about that. Thanks for reading! Be sure to leave a review, please.**


	5. Elizabeth

Elizabeth shivered in spite of the unrelenting sun and the shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Standing on one of the Cove's many balconies, she'd peered down to find Jack, Gibbs, and Anamaria making their way off the dock up to the main building. Sure they hadn't seen her, she dashed back into her room and, on her knees, emptied out the trunk until she found some trousers and a blouse. She pulled the trousers up over her legs, hiding a few bed sores. A week ago, she'd thought that would be the last she'd ever see of...of any of them. Swallowing, she smoothed down the blouse and stood in front of the vanity. While her shorter hair didn't tangle as much as it used to, it gave the impression of a Boticelli painting rather than a woman who had filled her time with adventures without their help.

After a few harsh strokes with a hairbrush, she gathered it into a low tail and stared at her reflection. _I'm so proud of you, Elizabeth. I'll give your love to your mother, shall I? _She shook her head. The faces she had known that had been so full of life, so full of love, were gone now, obviously deader than other parts of her life, she thought with a snort. Inhaling, Elizabeth gave herself one last look before striding out the door. She would wait until they were settled somewhere, comfortable, and then casually stroll up and make mindless chatter.

He'll see right through it, you know, she thought. It didn't matter. Jack did the same thing—buried everything but amusement and disinterest.

She paused a few feet from the main cavern where he'd made her King, where the light seemed to dance from crag to crag around everyone. Teague's voice echoed.

"And what makes you think I would just up and deal out ships? Ye think I have me own fleet around here?"

"I only came for what was promised to me," Anamaria said, her voice quiet but resolute, Elizabeth noted, still with a sultry sort of air to it.

"Whatever Jackie's promised ye has nothing to do with me." She could hear footsteps, probably Teague excusing himself to sit down. Expecting a debate to ensue, Elizabeth locked her eyes on all that lied right in front of them and ambled into the room. Feeling eyes on her, she eased into a chair and folded her arms across the table. The letter had interested her more than she'd let on to Teague, although it was true she had never seen or heard of such a sword before.

"Go make yourself at home," Teague said from his chair to Anamaria, even giving her a kingly wave of his hand. "You." He pointed to Jack after she'd left. "You stay put. I have something for you."

"If it's what you usually said I had coming from you, I'd rather not," Jack said, turning a little towards her. She met his knowing smile with her own brand of it. "And how fairs the true monarch of this kingdom? We're letting the rabble make short work of our ambassadors, aren't we?" He threw his head back in Teague's direction. "Unless you've taken on a consort, in which case I question your taste."

"Married kings don't take on consorts," she said in a flat tone.

"Jackie." Jack turned, only to have the letter hit his arm. "Sorry, boy. I thought you'd catch it. You tell me what that is and I'll be a might grateful."

She watched Jack look back at her and then back at Teague before taking the letter out of the envelope, watched his eyes. Always alert, always shining, she mused, allowing herself to gaze for half a second. A great many women had looked into them and believed anything he told them, she remembered, casting her eyes towards Gibbs. He nodded smartly and gave her a sincere smile which she returned.

"How did you come by this?" Jack asked.

"Messenger boy. Said an old man was looking for you. Ain't that right?" Elizabeth tilted her head. It had also been a week without hearing her own name.

"Captain Teague finds it rather curious," she said.

"Does he now? An old man, you said?" Jack placed the letter into his coat and clapped his hands together. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Teague, feeling generous and all. Since you were so good to give me this, I'll just borrow a small ship for me own purposes and we'll call it even, eh? Mr. Gibbs..."

It couldn't end like that! Elizabeth's bottom lip fell. She fought to stop herself from jumping to her feet and demanding more.

"Was it Italian? The writing?"

Jack glanced back at her, the same look he'd given her when James...dear James...had asked her if she believed him, a marriage of "why would he even ask such a thing" and "please believe me."

"This, love, is Latin, and it does not surprise me at all that you peeked into my personal affairs by which you were not granted such permission; however, your ignorance of the language as well as impermissible boundaries of said personal affairs does surprise me and as such it rather cancels out that you didn't have permission, permissively speaking..."

"What's so personal your old man's kept in the dark about it?" Teague coughed, rolling his eyes. Jack hugged the letter closer to him.

"Telling you would defeat the idea of keeping you in the dark about it, wouldn't it?" he said, pouting.

"Come now, Jackie boy. You're always itchin' to show off. Bring that up here and translate it and I'll say how smart you are."

Elizabeth let out a short laugh, but she leaned forward as Jack shrugged and trudged up to him. She relaxed in her seat and motioned for Gibbs to sit.

"What's all this about?" he whispered to her.

"No idea."

"This simply says, 'it has been taken. Help.'"

"What's been taken? This sword?" Teague asked. Jack raised an eyebrow, rubbing his upper and bottom lip together searching for a more creative thing to say than "I've said too much," Elizabeth supposed. "Who's sendin' ye help messages about swords?"

"My guess would be Remo Benedetti, but you wouldn't know him. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in a mood to answer such a distress call and will be in need of a ship to not only come to the aid of an old acquaintance, but also to appease a rather fiery hunter of the female persuasion who is apt to shoot me if I do not compensate her..."

"Now, hold on!" Teague stood. "It's not every day you come here so often. Maybe fate had this come here and not directly to you."

"Go on," Gibbs said, engrossed in the discussion.

"What we'll do is this," Teague began, clearing his throat. "We'll take the _Golden Queen _up north to where Harry said he got it. Might find some answers there."

Jack laughed, and, Elizabeth hated admitting to herself, she found it a merry, pleasant sound, even if it was in response to the man who had taken care of her this last week. Father and son off on a whirlwind treasure hunt. She started to grin until she could almost literally feel her heart sink.

"You said you planned on going."

"Yes. I. Singular...and Gibbs."

"Sounds like a plan!" Gibbs called to them. "Wind and tide on our side, shouldn't take more than a month."

"And that angry woman you need to give a ship to," Teague argued.

"True. Singular, Gibbs, plus one."

"Then make a crew out of it. I can round up some men..."

"Under no circumstances will I sail under you," Jack said, setting his jaw. For a moment, there was silence, each one looking at the other, testing each other in some way.

"Then don't sail under me. Sail under her!" Teague pointed right at her, causing Jack to spin back in her direction. Elizabeth blinked, not sure how to accept without leaping at the chance. She and Gibbs exchanged a blank look, finding no guidance or cue.

"I could very well entertain the idea of being under her," Jack said, leaving Elizabeth to roll her eyes. "If not for you."

"Then I defer to the King!" Teague growled, suddenly a burly tempest coming her way. She read sentiment all over his otherwise inexplicable desire to be involved in this quest they knew nothing about, and she refused to believe Jack was blind to it. Rather, turning a blind eye to it, but the options unfolded before her mind: go with everyone present, destination and perils unknown, or languish here alone, living for one day, ten years from a week ago.

"I wouldn't dream of usurping your own ship from you, Captain Teague," she said. "But I would be more than happy to serve as first mate." She shot a sly look up to Jack. That's for not even trying to humor him, she wanted to say.

"So that's it then?" Jack scoffed. "Demoted to crewman despite it being my quest in the first place."

"Think of it this way, Jack," she said, her eyes right on the spark in his. "You're the letter bearer."

He gave her a crooked smile and edged a little closer to her. "For now."

* * *

><p>Elizabeth heaved a sack over her shoulder with a few meager rags and equipment, the key to the Dead Man's Chest strung around her neck. She'd stuffed the Chest in the trapdoor underneath her bed, rolling blankets up all around it, absurdly trying to keep it warm. The planks of the pier creaked beneath her boots, the cries of a few gulls circling above her. The <em>Golden Queen<em>'s sails billowed, each flapping sound lifting her spirits more.

They cast off and with Teague at the helm, she leaned on the railing and watched the sunlight break up into little diamonds on the horizon.

"You!"

Sighing, she brought a straightened hand to her forehead and looked up.

"Elizabeth!" she insisted.

"Chart a course up to St. Augustine. We'll resupply up there."

Elizabeth sighed and picked up a lantern to go below decks. The ship rocked on her way down, but she held her balance. Finding a small alcove, she turned over a crate and spread the charts over it. Smoothing down the creases, so veined they seemed to have a life of their own, she hung the lantern up on a hook over her head and took out her tools.

"I can help you if you like."

Anamaria knelt down on the other side of the crate, her mouth tight and her steps a bit hesitant. Her hands disappeared in the sleeves of a gray coat, an orange bandana wrapped around her forehead.

"Oh. I know how to do it, thank you."

"I would have come if I could have, to the battle."

Elizabeth shot her head up and knew guilt when she saw it. Old friends, she and guilt, she thought. She raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'd have loved to have seen Cutler Beckett taken down," Anamaria continued. "It wasn't going to be too long before he caught wind of, well..." She held her arms out to take notice of the ship around them. "He would have closed the shipyard for sure and hanged us all."

"I didn't know you had a shipyard."

"Oh, yes. My brother and I run it. I suppose I don't have to tell you it doesn't pay well enough to not have to do some pirating once in a while." She laughed to herself, her feline features softening, and took some nuts out of her pocket. Popping one into her mouth, she swallowed it and said, "If Gabe hadn't been ill, I would have rushed to the Cove in a heartbeat."

"I don't hold anything against you," Elizabeth said, not wanting to shame the woman by saying she hadn't even thought of her when it all happened. She nodded and held out her hand when Anamaria gestured if she'd like a nut. "It actually all makes sense now, why getting a ship means so much to you."

"Honestly," Anamaria coughed, looking around and then leaning forward, her voice hushed. "It's not so much that I need to replace that ship so much as I need to get it through Jack's thick head he can't steal from me and get away with it. Yes, being a pirate, it comes with the territory, but..."

"Principles." Elizabeth nodded.

"That and the _Jolly Mon _was my personal ship." She peered down at the charts. "What's all this really about. Do you know?"

"No, but I plan on finding out as soon as I have a chance."

"St. Augustine's not exactly a haven. They might recognize the ship."

"Is that better or worse than making Captain Teague angry on his own ship?" Elizabeth joked. They shared a quick laugh.

"May I make a suggestion?" She pushed her sleeve up and traced the lines with her fingers, her hand wrapped in a cloth. "Use this stretch here. The way it flows, we could make a fast getaway if need be...by that I mean, we'll have to make a fast getaway." With that, she rose, dodged the lantern and started for the steps.

"Thank you. You don't have to leave."

"I better see what else needs done. Oh, Elizabeth? Sorry I pulled a pistol on you last year. It..."

"It wasn't anything personal," Elizabeth finished for her.

* * *

><p>Being on the <em>Golden Queen <em>didn't differ too much from the last time Elizabeth had been on the _Black Pearl, _keeping mostly to herself and she and Jack seeming to avoid each other at all cost. It wasn't so much running into him; it happened often enough, being on the same ship and all, but rather the idea of being alone with him for any length of time. Not sure if she was a wife or a widow, she preferred to err on the side of caution, spending most of her time surrounded by the others, still detached, but physically surrounded.

The second night of the voyage, Gibbs asked her to join them in the galley for cards. Craving some socializing and knowing it was Jack's shift at the helm, she accepted the offer. The swaying of the ship and the smell of rum and whiskey made her feel more lightheaded than before, but she managed to sit herself down and accept a torn-off piece of bread, still fresh. The lanterns gave off plenty of light to see the five cards in her hand, and the laughter and chatter filling up the space reminded her of nights at home with her father, Will visiting, and the three of them playing some sort of silly game until the late hours and rules of etiquette dictated they stop.

Teague managed to strum his guitar and be engaged in the game at the same time, playing a _Beggar's Opera _song that sounded lonely without voices or other instruments.

_Were I laid on Greenland's Coast,_ _And in my Arms embrac'd my Lass;_ _Warm amidst eternal Frost,_ _Too soon the Half Year's Night would pass._ _Were I sold on Indian Soil,_ _Soon as the burning Day was clos'd,_ _I could mock the sultry Toil_ _When on my Charmer's Breast repos'd._

"And I would love you all the day/Every night would kiss and play," Gibbs sang out after a swig from his flask.

"If with me you'd fondly stray/Over the Hills and Far Away," they joined in, repeating the song over and over, most of them looking far away, too, Elizabeth noticed, staring at the wistful eyes of Captain Teague, reduced to whispering the lyrics now. Don't grant him too much pathos, she warned herself. This is the same man you saw shoot someone just for insulting the Code. And yet pity hovered over her until her stomach lurched, as if something in her was trying to leap out onto the table.

"Land sakes, Elizabeth, are you all right?" Gibbs asked.

"Just a bit dazed for a moment," she said, her hand on her chest.

"Go on up, get some air," Teague ordered, stopping mid-strum. "Clear your head. Can't see how you lasted this long down here with us degenerates."

Not willing to use what was left of her senses to discern if he was being self-deprecating for a reason, she walked to the stairs and held her arms out against the bulkhead, inhaling and already feeling clearer, cleansed, even. Above her, she could see a patch of stars that put the finishing touches on her recovery. At last, she could go up and investigate with a clear head.

Jack didn't turn his head from the helm, and yet she knew how foolish it would be to assume she'd sneaked up on him. A cool breeze wafted around her, blowing a bit of hair into her face. She shivered, trying to adapt to the draft on the back of her neck and her cheeks.

"Would you like me to take over?"

"I'll have to decline. I've heard him play that one before."

"Jack," she said, approaching him until they were side by side. "I think we all have a right to know what's going on."

"And how did you arrive on said thought, considering everyone agreed before any details were made available? It does wonders for one's vanity, leading the blind on such a journey, whether I be captain of journey-going vessel or not," he said with some snap.

"Not blind, just..." She folded her hands on the railing and bit her lip.

"...just seeing it my way now, eh?" He finally looked at her, his face gentler than she imagined it would be. At the helm of a large, sturdy ship, albeit not his own, must put him at ease to some degree, she concluded. There were so many times with Jack where control seemed to be resolutely a non-player, but not so now. Now he seemed so stalwart...and in a maddening way, she thought, he actually was. She could expect the best of him before, so she relaxed her stance and let herself enjoy the starlight, confident he would give it to her now.

"If I were to venture a guess, I'd wager you haven't been to Canada, have you?"

"The farthest north I've ever gone was to the Pennsylvania colony, to see friends of my father's." He could hear the nightmare that the trip ended up being another time.

"Then you are in the dark as much as I as to why a Sicilian man would be there."

"Who is he, Jack? How do you know him?"

"He was my tutor."

Elizabeth's eyebrows arched, her brow knitting. The corners of her mouth began to curve upwards. Pursing her lips together, she debated waiting for more or commanding more.

"This Benedetti man was your tutor?"

"For the time I lived there. One can't linger one place when the sea calls." He stiffened a little. "Believe it or not, Lizzie, I was not born the sublime, matchless swordsman you see before you. He used to let me practice with his own sword, that sword." He tapped his coat pocket. "Cygnus."

"The swan... Well then," she said, a little louder. "This is all some goodwill mission then? We're doing a favor?"

"As it were," he said, and cryptically, she thought. "It's not just any sword, darling."

It was almost too much. She couldn't blink, couldn't anchor herself. _Peas in a pod. _It was as if all the turmoil, the betrayal, the absolute suffering on both their parts hadn't happened at all with one look at that grin and that gleam in his eyes, signs that Jack the legend and Jack the man could, and, in fact, were often, one and the same, and she could follow him on this mission...captain of venture-going vessel or not.

Forcing herself to take heed of a passing cloud, she tilted her head. "And this isn't just any voyage."

He chuckled under his breath. "No, no, indeed not."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The song is called "Over the Hills and Far Away." **


	6. Jack

Cool nights and clear days added up to a suspiciously smooth voyage, Jack thought, raising the fishing net. While not an official punishment of any kind, he refused to believe Teague did not derive some sadistic joy out of assigning him the deckhand duties, the odoriferous deckhand duties. Each hour brought them closer to St. Augustine, but the routine of it, the sheer monotony that was efficiency's bastard brother, boggled him until he was pleading with unknown forces for a Navy ship's colors to appear in the distance.

Not that monotony was without charms...Jack frowned at that paradoxical revelation...such as catching up on sleep, being able to just breathe and catch sight of the porpoises playing around them. Rarely did he consider himself feeling rejuvenated, but a little bit of monotony seemed to agree with him.

As did Elizabeth—damned elusive, enigmatic...enticing Lizzie, ever present and haunting the ship the same way she still haunted him. Still! He threw a crab overboard with more gusto than usual. In the Locker, the scorching heat and perhaps Davy Jones' own brand of torture rendered sleep an impossibility and yet he'd somehow dreamed of her anyway. It was not for lack of trying. He'd collapse onto the bed in his cabin, voices rattling all throughout his head, and close his eyes, literally praying to be able to fall asleep. He resorted to what he'd done before when the wrath of Davy Jones was only months, weeks away- he'd think about her, walking up and down the beach in her shift, visiting him at the jail before his hanging, calling him a smart man and locking eyes with him in the misty waters near Isla de Muerta. But as long as they were dreams, they were beyond his control, or at least that was how he justified it to himself. In the Locker, vague, impressionist dreams turned into vivid, gritty, limitless fantasies.

From that time on, he thought, sticking his hands into the floppy, wet mess of pompano fish, limbo could only describe it. They were friends, they weren't, they were enemies, they weren't, they were two people forced into circumstance and tribulation and nothing more, and then at times it was much, much more.

"Weren't you on your way up here, lookin' for Barbossa?" Gibbs asked, whipping out a knife. Jack stood, more than willing to leave the gutting to other hands.

"You seem too keen on reminding me I am not there presently."

"Sorry." Gibbs shrugged. "I was just wonderin' if the _Pearl _was going to be here."

"Unless Captain Teague sees fit in letting you and me go gallivanting about each harbor looking for her, it sadly might be a true case of ships that pass in the night." The _Pearl, _abducted from right under his nose again, by the same man. That fact pecked and pecked Jack to no end, his pistol ready and his head promising himself it would take far less than ten years this time to put a hole in Barbossa.

"That's what I was afraid of," Gibbs sighed. "Well, I suppose we could at least find a ship suitable for Anamaria, hmm?"

"Nay, mate. We're a scant crew as it is. Let's keep all measures of creative ideas out of her hearing range, shall we?" They nodded and continued to work, each one's head popping up now and then to check for black sails in the distance. Jack had since delved out the same details of the sword to Gibbs that he had with Lizzie, congratulating as well as questioning himself as to the details he omitted. Because playing things close to the vest doesn't end up in marooning or kraken, he answered himself. Still, it might help them prepare for...whatever Remo had stumbled into. Always a young lad unaware of his age, he laughed to himself.

* * *

><p>"No one go far," Teague said, the last to step off the <em>Golden Queen. <em>He pursed his lips at the clouds blanketing the sky above them before adding, "Don't know if a squall or capture would be worse. Let's not find out."

"Jack! Where ya off to so fast?" Gibbs trotted up next to him.

"It's like you said, mate. We might as well go have a look, hadn't we? Couldn't look the _Pearl _in the eye and tell her I didn't try."

"Ha ha! Well said!" Gibbs clapped his hands vbtogether, a hungry look overtaking him. All Teague had assigned him to do was find extra linens, Jack remembered with a pensive frown. The others had food to gather, a much more pressing and time-consuming task. Perhaps his father knew how much he wanted to find the _Pearl _and was purposely, although discreetly, granting him some free time to do so. Good one. Tell me another, Jack snorted. Oy...Teague being kind was the day...

"Wait!"

Elizabeth bounded up to them, weaving through the crowded port.

"You're looking for the _Pearl_," she said.

"No, we are looking for linens, as commanded," he said, nudging Gibbs in the gut to quell his nodding. "I'll not have calumnious rumors further lowering my status on that ship."

"Very well. Then we can pick some up over there."

"It's an easy enough job," Gibbs said to her. "Hadn't ye better stay with the rest of the crew?"

"Captain Teague said I should join you."

Either so he can have Anamaria to himself or to spy, Jack concluded, a wave of pity washing over him for Anamaria. He stalled, pondering the benefits of going after them. It wasn't as if she said she had wanted to be with him, them, after all.

The crowd around them sped up, some of them running in place until the person in front of them moved. It was a veritable current, Jack thought, and they were all likely to be swept up in it if they failed to go along with it. He stood on his tiptoes to see past the array of tricorn hats and towering wigs at least thirty years out of style.

Elizabeth found an empty patch and disappeared into the crowd, calling for them to follow her. Curiosity, he remembered, both pleased and vexed to see evidence of just how on the mark he'd been.

"There's a square up here!" Her voice grew fainter and fainter. Jack quickened his pace.

"Best not be runnin' off," he heard Gibbs call up to her. "Don't want to get separated."

The browns and reds of various coats and trousers blurred together for him, his hand hovering over his pistol. Few events warranted an entire town's participation, much less enthusiasm, and he said so to himself until he could make out the top of a wooden platform, some ropes coiled and knotted around a thick board, all spaced a good distance apart. Gallows, he realized, shivering. At last he spotted Elizabeth and resorted to repositioning the woman in his way to reach her.

"Just a hanging, nothing momentous. We can resupply in record time with everyone else here and ourselves elsewhere." She didn't look at him.

"Look," she whispered. Squinting through the crowd, Jack stared at three nooses, each with a tied miscreant behind it, a balding short one with only a few stringy waves of hair left, a gawky, gangly-legged willow of a man with an eyepatch, and a crag-faced, salty elderly man...with a blue and yellow parrot close to his side.

"Bugger," was all he could say.

"Holy Virgin! Pintel, Ragetti, and Cotton!" Gibbs hissed, his jaw dropped. A short stake had been added to the gallows, a miniature noose and all for the parrot, whose wings stretched behind its back, pinched with some sort of clip. Talk about overkill, Jack thought, doing a double take at the small noose the executioner was placing over the parrot.

"...it is for all these offenses that the city of St. Augustine, in the colony of East Florida, will witness your being hanged by the neck until dead, as per your sentence..."

"We have to save them," Elizabeth said, her eyes consumed with fire.

"And how do you propose we do that, darling, in a manner which does not resolve in three more places for us?" Her eyes narrowed, a combative sneer answering him.

"I'm tired of losing people," she growled, so low and so resolved he knew he could expect to be run through with her sword if he delayed her any longer from what she saw as her mission.

"Go with her," Jack said to Gibbs, keeping his hand near his pistol before glaring back at her. "Although what benefit they've ever been for you is anyone's guess." Think, Jack, think. The stuffy-sounding official paused in his recitation, the sun reflecting of his spectacles in such a way he seemed a glowing icon in a foreign church rather than a man. "Go around to the platform. The steps. Wait for my signal." He watched them run off, holding his breath all the while.

"Does anyone care to address the condemned who stand here before us?" the official asked.

"I'll fall on that sword," Jack shouted, raising his hand. A few gasps answered him, although not enough to really describe as theatrical, he thought, disappointed. From the corner of his eye, he saw the eyes of the condemned widen in recognition, and maybe a glimmer of hope.

"Who are you, sir?"

"It matters not, does it, when souls are about to meet their maker?" Jack meandered through the crowd, feeling eye after eye on him. He took off his hat and bowed. "The stories I could relay to you genteel folk concerning the depravity, the fiendishness, and all-around wickedness of these pitiful specimens science has dictated we call men. I do not recall hearing mutiny among their charges?"

The official skimmed his scroll. "No, sir. It does not appear."

"Ah! Another foul against this doomed lot!" Jack yelled, pointing up at them, savoring each one's gulp. "I don't suppose, at any confession, they divulged themselves as the masterminds behind the mutiny, ten years past, of the intrepid Captain Jack Sparrow!" That should be plenty of time for Lizzie and Gibbs to reach the guard at the steps. They would either need to kill him or incapacitate him somehow...solution presents itself! "The very thought of dishonoring such a title as captain!" He whipped out his pistol and slammed the butt into the side of the building next to him, a few more gasps and even a scream this time. He thudded it three times, hoping it muffled the sounds of escape behind the crowd.

"Sir, please get to the point," the official snapped. "You are desecrating that building! Were you present or not at this sin?"

"Present and accounted for!" Jack called, fighting the temptation to grin. "We were on our way to one of the greatest treasures ever immortalized in legends, when these three rapscallions knocked on the captain's door and tricked him into stepping out. You see it was their stupidity, their infantile innocence, that made the good man not suspect a thing." Now they should be waiting to step onto the platform and untie them, he thought. "Quite the scuffle ensued, I assure you! Such fisticuffs! First, the homunculus rammed his massive head into the captain like so!" Jack mimed being hit and stumbled back, a few in the crowd scooting back so as not to touch him. "And he grappled with the sticky one like this!" He plopped down to the cobblestone. He would be hard pressed to hold everyone's attention for much longer, he thought from down on the ground. "But it was the bird, that demon with the feathers that was the worst of all! That is the devil's bird!"

"We have heard enough, sir. Compose yourself. It seems the Misters Pintel, Ragetti, and Cotton have more marks against them than any of us could have fathomed. And so, by the power invested in me, you shall hang for your crimes. May God have mercy on your souls."

But he turned to an empty platform. A few men in the crowd scampered forth, kicking in doors and running into alleyways in search of the missing criminals. Jack grinned, and with a little tilt of his head, he strolled back towards the street leading to the pier. No extra linens perhaps, but three more deckhands would be a gifthorse even Teague wouldn't look in the mouth.

"There they are! After them!"

Maybe not so casual a stroll, Jack thought, breaking into a run. Elizabeth, Gibbs, Pintel, Ragetti, and Cotton dashed out from the other side of a building, the parrot soaring over them. Jack overturned a wagon on his way, sending some melons rolling into the mob.

"It's like old times, ain't it, Cap'n Jack?" Pintel cheered next to him.

"Unfortunately."

The crew ran down the empty pier, not daring to give their pursuers a backward glance. If luck decided to smile down on them at all today, Teague and Anamaria would already be back on the ship. The masts and crow's nests of the docked ships rollicked in the churning waters, the sky growing dark.

"Up here! Almost there!" Gibbs yelled back to the rest of them. The _Golden Queen _lied nestled between two large galleons, the silhouette of a woman appearing from behind the rail.

"Cast off! Anamaria, cast off!" Jack cried out.

As they sprinted closer, he could see Anamaria freeze for a fraction of a second before taking up the lines. Two more men appeared on the ship and started casting off. They leaped onto the hull, each one's nails digging into the wood.

"What the bloody hell did you do?" Teague yelled down to him, his long hair falling around his head like curtains.

"Why do you always assume it's me?" Jack replied, a wave splashing his waist. Twisting around as the others climbed around him, he stared out at the mob at the dock. By the time they gathered sailors together and cast off, they'd be several days ahead of them...if they even knew in which direction to go. With a satisfied smirk, he climbed up the rest of the way and flung his leg over the railing.

"What happened?" Anamaria called down from the helm. She winced at the sight of Pintel and Ragetti. "That's Barbossa's crew!"

"Mine, then Barbossa's, then mine again, then Barbossa's again, much to my chagrin," Jack answered.

"What were you thinking? Here we all are, kind enough to help you out with this little mission of yours," Teague said, "And you put the whole ship in jeopardy, me, and Dalton, and Titus..."

"...had a dog named Titus once," Jack said, offering his hand to the bulky, cross-eyed sot next to his father. "The pleasure is all yours."

"Jackie..." Teague began.

"Please, they're friends!" Elizabeth said, rushing up to them, pulling Cotton and Ragetti up with her, gesturing for Pintel to follow them. The parrot even perched on her shoulder. "I couldn't let them hang, and there's nowhere safe in the city for them to go, and we are a small crew as it is, so now with the two you, er, hired..." She paused, and Jack wondered if, only for an instant, she was a little bit afraid of the two new giants. "That's ten people to crew your ship, twice as much as when we left. They're good sailors, too, aren't you?"

"Not sure how we'd do in another maelstrom, to be honest," Ragetti said, wringing the hem of his coat. "But we'll do our best, Captain Teague! Really, we will."

"When do we sail? When do we sail?" the parrot squawked.

"That's an affirmative," Gibbs said.

Teague's eyes inspected them, his weathered hand stroking his weathered chin. He paced around, stopping in front of Elizabeth.

"You can vouch for them?"

"I can. Please let them come along." A moment's silence followed.

"Very well. They'll have to pull their weight around here, and you will answer to me if they don't."

Well played, Lizzie, well played, Jack thought, feeling an inch of a sting. Still watching her, she gave the first real smile he'd seen on her in a long time and kissed Teague on the cheek, the image causing Jack's stomach to lurch. The rest of the crew, stepped back, cringing at the audacity and her upcoming punishment.

"Trim the sails! Squall's coming!" was all the stoic Captain Teague said on his way into his cabin.

"'Spose we owe you some thanks, too," Ragetti said, still wringing his coat. Jack gave him a blank look. "So...it's like we said. We'll work hard. We still got immortal souls to worry about. Don't want nothin' to happen to those." He sidestepped to Elizabeth. "I think that's why Barbossa left us there." He let out a low whistle. "We'd about given up any hope of rescue."

"Yeah, didn't expect to see you, Poppet," Pintel said, hanging his head down with a bashful sway.

"It's all right," Elizabeth said. "Why don't you go below decks and...and wash up."

Pintel and Cotton turned to go, but Ragetti pulled them back. "Hang on. We got our immortal souls to think of, and they read us _Le Morte d'Arthur _in jail when Pintel'd nod off during Ecclesiastes. Said he was a hopeless case. So we know what to do." He knelt down in front of her, Pintel and Cotton following suit. On one knee, Ragetti crossed himself with his long fingers and chanted, "I pledge my eternal service and gratitude to you, O King."

"Uh...here here," Pintel said, crossing himself. Cotton crossed himself at lightning speed and jumped to his feet. Rolling his eyes, Jack looked around to Elizabeth, who looked as though she'd found three stray kittens in need of a loving home.

"Thank you," she said after a beat. Top that, love, Jack thought, keeping his head down at the lines in the wooden deck so as not to laugh. He heard her unleash a breath when they clamored down into the heart of the ship.

"And here I half-expected you to tell them to rise, bestowing on them great titles and allowing them to kiss your hand," he said, placing his hands behind his back and craning. He smiled as she chewed on her lip to refrain from lowering herself to his level.

"They, they meant well."

"As knights regularly do, to be sure."

"It's still ten when it was only five," she said, her features relaxed but flushed from their escape, a little bit of hair drooping out of her tail. He wondered if that's how she would look under more private, less regal circumstances...

"And that is the only reason you do not presently have a cat o'nine flaying you right now."

"I'm sure that's not the only reason," she said rather quickly and with a twinge of doubt, he noticed. "Your father seems to like me."

"I wouldn't grow too confident in that regard." Kisses don't always subdue us, after all. He braved meeting her eyes, expecting to find the same doubt that had been in her tone, only to find a bit of fire still in them, the sparkle epitomizing play.

"Aw, don't let it get you down just because he's picked a favorite child, Jack," she laughed, climbing up the steps to the helm.

How can you help but dream of her, he thought, watching her go from the corner of his eye before he blinked and went off to make himself useful. That's a decidedly un-brotherly thought...

* * *

><p><strong>AN: It took a while to decide if the parrot would really have his own noose, but opportunities are meant to be taken. Umm...do not own Arthurian legend, although I'm pretty sure it's public domain. Again, do not own the POTC characters. Please leave a review.**


	7. Gibbs II

It was almost like being back on the _Pearl_, Gibbs thought, taking his shift at the helm. Not that the _Golden Queen _wasn't a magnificent ship in her own right. Dalton and Titus stayed mainly by Teague's side, reticent and intimidating most of the time, but never gave anyone any trouble. He sat on a barrel sewing a patch onto the knee of his extra set of trousers, enjoying the last few lazy raindrops on the back of his neck. The storm in St. Augustine lasted about an hour, but red skies in the morning greeted them day after day, heavy rain slicing down on them in the early afternoons.

"Add one to mine, too," Anamaria said, tossing him a longer and leaner set of trousers before shooting him a smile and heading into the galley. Two women aboard and so far the only scrape had been retrieving Pintel, Ragetti, and Cotton. And even that turned out to be a blessing in disguise, Gibbs mused, checking on them from the barrel. On hands and knees near the bow, they swabbed the deck, whistling and singing away, Cotton patting the deck with his free hand in time to the music.

A raindrop fell right onto his eyelash. Bringing the back of his hand to his eye, Gibbs wiped it away and shook his head. Across from him, Jack cleaned his pistol, blowing here and there at the extra sensitive spots. He'd glance up at the helm once in a while, leading Gibbs to think more looming gray clouds awaited them. He turned his head, too, only to find more of the same sky as usual.

It must have been the helm itself that kept distracting Jack. Lord knew it wasn't as fine a helm as was on the _Pearl, _Elizabeth even saying out of Teague's hearing range it pulled a little. He couldn't feel it pull now, though, as she was up there with it.

He turned his head again and made eye contact with Elizabeth steering. She smiled down on him.

"How's the mending coming along?"

"About done," he said, pricking himself with the needle. Sucking on the tip of his finger, he stared across from him at just the right moment to see Jack's eyes dart back down to his pistol. Say, there was a thought, his captain and that typhoon in the guise of a mere girl. The two were often at it like cats and dogs, but Joshamee Gibbs grew up with eight sisters, each one in turn driving some poor soul mad with want whether it be with a coquettish blush or challenging banter. Snapping off the last thread, he folded up his trousers and teetered down to his hammock.

Anamaria's could wait, he told himself, easing down to his sack with a grunt. He stuffed the trousers into it just as the ship rollicked. Bracing the floor with his hand, he kept himself from toppling over. He formed a circle as he rose, panning the area for an overturned lamp or spilled spirits.

A bottle clunked down to the floor from where Elizabeth had chosen as her territory, hanging blankets over the hooks around her hammock until it formed a canopy she could slide back and forth. By instinct he ran over to it and groped with the pads of his fingers for broken glass. Not one shard or a droplet for that matter. Taking the bottle by the neck, he prepared to set it on top of her hammock, but before he could part the blankets, he noticed a rolled-up piece of parchment inside it.

"Trust is like a broken vase; you can piece it back together but it will never be the same," he mouthed, his fingers twitching at the rim of the bottle. Pirate, he shrugged, glancing behind his shoulder once before letting the parchment roll out. He caught it and unfurled it.

_Dearest Elizabeth,_

_I've already been to every corner of the map and beyond, and, unfortunately, our fear has been all but confirmed. Everyone from the wisest sages to beings I cannot even begin to describe to you have all dismissed any possibility of breaking the curse. It's as if the thought never even crossed the minds of even the ones whom I thought would know best when I asked them. Since it appears the only escape from my duties will involve a third party stabbing the heart, I cannot bear to have you wait for a day thinking it will be more. Live your life, love who you will, and know that you can put your trust in me when it is your time to guide you to where you must ultimately go. I will love you forever and still count the days until I can see you. To communicate with me, throw a message in a bottle for me into the sea. I'll find it._

_Will_

Rolling up the parchment with as much speed as he could muster, Gibbs crammed it back into the bottle and set it on the hammock, along with a few other trinkets in case she suspected. He would go up and tell her a few of her belongings fell and he collected them and placed them on her hammock so they wouldn't scatter. Plausible, he thought, nodding, his heart racing. Poor girl, widowed after one day of marriage, not that any country would recognize a couple married by a pirate, he thought, cocking his head, but still. Of course the tears he sometimes heard at night belonged to her- he could hear from behind her canopy how she mourned, but maybe now she was also mourning her own release in a way. Perhaps that's what it's like to be truly alone.

The rain had not yet relented when he went back out onto the deck, a lazy droplet here and there. Get a hold of yourself, man, or you'll be sputterin' all kinds of drivel, he told himself, sucking in his paunch and clearing his throat. Marching up the steps, he felt his face fall at the sight of her sullen one, the key chained to her neck catching a ray of sun.

"Elizabeth..."

"Get to those shallows over there," Teague said, coming up from his cabin and pointing. "Once she slows, we need more fresh water."

"So soon?" she asked.

"Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink," Teague recited, his thumbs hooking into his belt. "Take your brood with you. They need to show me they can do something a little more useful."

Gibbs followed Teague's eyes down to where Pintel and Ragetti still scrubbed. Cotton stood to stretch his back, his arms high in the air.

"I could go if ye need an extra hand," he heard himself saying.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Gibbs, but we should be all right," Elizabeth said, taking a moment to rest her cheek on one of the spokes. "It shouldn't take too long with four." She smiled to herself. "Actually, the ride to and from in the longboats may take longer when all is said and done."

"At least let me take the helm from ye so ye can get ready," he said, a stutter starting to slip its way into the conversation. "Oh, er, some things fell to the floor while I was below decks. Th-they're on your hammock now, dead center so they shouldn't fall again. Wouldn't want that, heh heh." Heh heh? Imbecile.

"You don't mind?" He shook his head. "Well, if you insist." She threw herself along the railing and called down. "Mr. Cotton! Step to! You and Pintel and Ragetti have to go with me to a spring. Ready a longboat!" Turning back to Gibbs, she swallowed. "I could take your flask for you if..."

"Oh! No, thank ye, miss. I like my drink a might stronger than water." He relieved her and waited until he could hear her footsteps descending the steps before he exhaled. Regaining the feel of the _Queen's _spokes, he flooded the various chests and drawers in his mind for a story, one similar to hers to cheer her up, give her some hope for a happily ever after of some kind, perhaps one of a maiden taken to some beach to die and be reunited with her lover...that would not do, he grimaced.

On the other hand, he mused, sticking out his chin and tucking in his lips as he gazed down at the deck, there were other opportunities. A bit young and impetuous, true, but if he himself found Elizabeth a tough and intelligent girl, certainly others did. Even scruffy, shapeless men's clothes couldn't hide a beautiful, even stunning, exterior. Gibbs grinned. He knew just the thing, and now at the helm, guiding the ship in to that nearby island over there, he could take the time to think just how he would do it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: "Red sky at night, sailor's delight; Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning," is an old rhyme connected to weather. I'm not crazy about this chapter but it actually serves as a segway for the next one, which will have more action and be longer. Big thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! I appreciate it.**


	8. Elizabeth II

The longboat wedged into the slushy sand. Elizabeth ordered everyone to carry as many flasks and pails as possible before trekking through the thick brush. The lazy, starry palm trees had vanished with St. Augustine, making way for bars upon bars of black trunks that stretched far over her head. She could hear the last of the rain, guiding her to the sound of the fresh spring.

"It can't be far. Let's go," she said.

"I'm tellin' you, if Arthur'd pulled the sword out of a pie, it'd have been a better story," Pintel barked from behind her.

"But it had to be a stone! Only a king could pull a sword from a stone!" Ragetti argued. "How's a sword going to stay in a pie anyway?"

"That's the trick! Ye know it's magic when it can stay in a pie. Of course it's gonna stay in a stone."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Elizabeth asked, biting her lip and wishing she'd stayed uninvolved.

"You'd know a magic sword when you saw one, wouldn't ya, Poppet?"

"I think the odds of a magic sword being stuck in a stone are loads better than a magic sword in a pie!" Ragetti said, his voice growing defensive.

"I ain't arguin' odds!"

"No, you're arguin' pie! A stone's classier."

"It don't matter where it come from, so long as people know it's magic! Some sword...couldn't save Camelot at all, could it?"

Decidedly not the type of analysis she would participate in with her governesses, Elizabeth thought, following the sound of the water.

"Came from the Lady in the Lake anyway," Pintel went on. "And she got it back at the end!"

"Of course! Gifts from the gods go back to the gods."

"Shut it, both of you," Elizabeth hushed them, a finger to her lips to soften the scolding. Weaving through some low branches, she arrived at a clearing where the spring flowed, tranquil and undisturbed. The forest around them quieted. No more chirping or rustling made her ears feel heavy, like they'd stopped working. Her fingers flew to the key around her neck. Released from her vows or not, her lips dried at the thought of something happening to her. What would become of the key? What if the legends circulated that she had it and aroused the greed of every man with even a budding interest in controlling the seas?

"Miss Elizabeth? Miss Elizabeth, are you all right?"

She jumped at Ragetti's single, buggy eye so close.

"Fine. Let's hurry before dark. We don't want to get lost."

If the two of them continued discussing swords and pies, Elizabeth failed to hear, their tongues as nonexistent as Cotton's, as far as she was concerned. _Elizabeth Swann, do you take me to be your husband? _Soaked and so surrounded by weapons she'd wondered how Will had even been able to find her in all the commotion. Giddy and beginning to accept the makeshift wedding would be her last moments with a blissful abandon, she'd cheered her vow to him, almost giggling. And now released...being heralded as Mrs. Turner once and one sweet consummation and then it was over, a goodbye instead of a honeymoon. Released? Will meant well, always did, and maybe someday he would find lost at sea a beautiful lass willing to serve a few years on the _Dutchman _by his side, but absolute liberation meant no ties, no connections, and nothing worth fighting for.

"I wish I'd accepted Mr. Gibbs' offer to come along," she said out loud. "He could have told us stories about this place."

"Maybe there ain't no stories," Ragetti gulped. "Maybe people don't come out of here."

"Then we'd have the first story!" Pintel laughed, elbowing his partner in the ribs. He sealed the last pail and lifted it by the handle, knocking it into the one next to it with a loud clang. "Oops."

"Be quiet," Elizabeth said. "We don't want to attract..." A low rumbling came from the other end of the spring. They all stopped and peered into bushes. Whatever it was remained hidden, save for the ripping, juicy sounds of eating. Elizabeth reached down for her sword, stepping backwards with the rest of them. With her hands, she motioned as best she could for them to pick up their effects without a sound, the chewing and gnawing growing louder.

Cotton was the closest to the brush. Just about to turn, he stepped on a fallen twig, snapping it. The rumbling ceased, replaced by a growl.

"Get back to the ship," Elizabeth whispered, flinching at a stronger growl. Fixing her eyes on the bush, she caught sight of two nonhuman gleams. A dark snout protruded out, leading to the massive head of a black bear.

"Stay calm," she whispered again, steadying her voice. "I'm sure if we leave it alone..."

The roar deafened her. Like the rest, she dropped the pails to cover her ears. The bear maneuvered its way out of the bush and balanced itself on its hind legs, more than a foot taller than Ragetti.

"Run!" Pintel bellowed, sprinting into the brush. They followed suit, scattering in the dark forest, barely feeling the spiderwebs and branches snag their clothing.

"Stay together!" Elizabeth shouted, zigzagging through the woods, feeling the vibrations of the bear behind her. She needed to find the others. Why hadn't they stayed together?

"If I get away I'll kill Captain Teague!" Pintel's voice echoed through the trees. So could the thump of one of them tripping. She slid at a place where the forest ran downhill and rolled into a tree root curling up from the ground. Crouched down, she dusted herself off and listened. She could still hear shallow, panicked breaths, only now they were fainter. They wouldn't leave without her, she told herself, not after she'd helped save them from the hangman's noose. Pirates, she argued, rolling her eyes at her ability to argue with herself at a time like this. Jack wouldn't leave without her...

Enough of this, she thought, standing. Elizabeth Swann, Pirate King, is not going to be mauled to death by some bear. Unsheathing her sword, she inhaled and took off running.

"Orson! Orson!" she heard. She quickened her pace to the point her feet throbbed inside her boots.

"Here, boy! Oh, where do you suppose he's gotten off to this time?"

The voices ran together until they were more like the wind, permeating around her like the odor of the berries. The trees began to clear, she noticed, a drained smile stretching across her flushed face. She'd see the beach and then the longboat and they would row back to the _Golden Queen _and resupply someplace else...unless the bear was a strong swimmer. One thing at a time, she reminded herself, trying desperately to catch her breath.

The bear leaped out on all fours in front of her, roaring and shaking its head to and fro. Her sword positioned, she took in its size.

"Oh, oh, there! Stop her!"

A flash of white ran across her eyes before Elizabeth fell into blackness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I did some research on American black bears for this chapter and was surprised to learn that males can get pretty enormous, so I hope I captured how terrifying angering one would be. I'm so sorry about the chapter titles. As you may have guessed, the person whose point of view I'm using is also the title of the chapter, but this site won't let multiple chapters have the same name and I didn't know that until I posted the last chapter. So that one was originally going to be just "Gibbs" and this one "Elizabeth" and so on. Now the chapter titles just look garish. Sorry.**


	9. Jack II

**A/N: Last chapter was really short, so onto the next one!**

* * *

><p>Jack paced the deck, a single bar of light on the water heralding the sunset. Above it the sun still shone, fending off the night for another few minutes. He glared at the island. Each pang of fear it sent him settled into an unintelligible hatred of the place. His father busied himself marching around the deck, coughing each time he passed him. Unable to stand it any longer, Jack turned and faced him.<p>

"How big did you say the island was?"

"I don't believe I did."

"And how long does it take to find this spring?"

"Ease up, boy. It's there. You can check the charts yourself."

"Something's wrong," he could hear Anamaria muttering on her way over to them. "Something's wrong," she said again to them. "They should have been back by now."

"The Navy occupy this island?" Jack tried.

"I don't know anything about it," Teague said. "I used it years ago. Worst case I thought they'd be right back and say it'd dried up."

"Clearly, that's not what's happened, has it?" Jack cocked his pistol. "I'm taking a longboat."

"I'm going with you," Anamaria said.

"Hold on now. Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Teague hustled over to where they were preparing one of the boats. "It's getting on night and neither of you's been here before. How do you expect to find them?"

"Did I not mention you were coming, too? Fancy that."

"Jackie?"

"Or do you not trust your two gargantuan pets to mind the boat?" Jack held an extra pistol out to him. "Because I'll do you a favor and inform you now—the way this night is going, they won't be the ones you'll have to worry about starting a mutiny. Mr. Gibbs!"

"Aye?"

"Mind the boat. Captain Teague's decided to come take in the scenery with us."

"Aye!"

* * *

><p>Two empty longboats side by side and a whole forest before us, Jack thought, weaving around the trees to where Teague said the spring awaited. Bloody brilliant. The stillness of the night made the pangs return to him.<p>

"Chipper place," Anamaria mumbled. "I could do for a cricket chirping or something."

"That was the way it was before," Teague said, his voice eerie in the dark. "That's why it was so easy to find the spring...this spring." They stopped in front of the spring, its peaceful babbling a smack in the face. Flasks and pails laid overturned all over the place, forming a jagged trail back into the woods.

"Clearly, they ran into some trouble." Anamaria shook her head. "Should we call out for them?"

"Look for shelters, a cabin or a fort, something to that nature," Jack said, his eyes twitching as they searched around him. At least there's no blood, he thought. About to step back into the forest, he thought he heard what sounded like a cart or a wagon. Praying it wasn't his imagination, he ran toward the sound, darting around the twigs. Anamaria and Teague followed.

"We could just use their boat to get them to the mainland," he heard.

"Not until we make sure they aren't dead. You hit so hard."

Blind fury took over any remainder of rational thought in Jack's head. He charged at the small cart, tackling the two figures pulling it. Wrestling one to the ground, he pinned it with his knees and rammed the butt of his pistol right into the other one's face. The figure under him wriggled free, stumbling to its feet right as Anamaria jumped in front of it with her sword drawn. Jack darted to the cart. Cotton and Ragetti spilled out of it, bobbing around with their hands and feet bound. He skidded past Pintel and found Elizabeth, eyes closed. Her hair was loose. Sliding his fingers through it, he patted her scalp in search of a wound, closing in on a small knot near the top of her head. Only the sensation of her exhale on his arm prompted his thoughts to return.

"Lizzie? Lizzie, darling," he whispered, tapping her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Her eyelashes fluttered, her hand at once rushing to her head. She winced once before opening her eyes. Finally, he could breathe.

"Bear..." she murmured, struggling to prop herself up on her elbows. The key around her neck shone brighter in the moonlight than her eyes, dulled and dazed still. At last alert, she leaped off the cart.

"Hey!" Pintel yelled. "Don't forget about me!"

"Jack," he heard Anamaria call. Cringing, he found himself sharing a "what next" look with Elizabeth. She followed him to the front of the cart where Anamaria stood with her sword still at the ready. Two wrinkled women huddled together in fear at the sight of it. The hoods of their capes removed, he could see both had wavy white hair down to their waists, a small gap between their front teeth, and eyes set a fraction further apart than most. They were identical, save for one holding her upper lip that was starting to swell. She wore a black and white gown, same as the other, except her buttons were on the other side. Mirror images of each other, he thought.

"I say, what's all this about?" the injured one asked, her high-pitched voice carrying more of a colonial accent than Jack expected.

"We ought to ask that of you," Teague said. "We send our crew in for water and find them tied and bashed in the head."

"Oh, oh do let us explain. We weren't trying to hurt any of them, but you see the girl came so close to hurting Orson..."

"...Orson?"

"Our bear Orson," the other one said.

"That beast belongs to you?" Pintel bellowed.

"Yes, he's our bear. And he had gotten loose and we couldn't possibly let him stay off in the forest all by himself, and I suppose my sister, well..."

"I really don't know what came over me," she interrupted. "But it just seemed like the tree limb was a better idea than talking." She backed away from the sword and bustled over to Elizabeth. "I do apologize about your head. If you would just let me take a look at it."

"Salome! We haven't officially met!" her twin cried.

"Goodness! You're right! I'm Salome Weyard and this is my sister..."

"Miss Serenity Weyard. We're twin sisters. In case you were wondering why we're identical."

"That does tend to happen when twins are involved."

"Yes, Salome."

A stunned silence greeted them. Still cupping her knot, Elizabeth stepped forward.

"I'm Elizabeth...Swann," she decided, gesturing at Teague.

"Oh," he sputtered. "Captain John Teague, Keeper of the Code and captain of the _Golden Queen_."

"Sailors! How exciting!" Serenity squealed.

"Cotton, Pintel, and Ragetti you already know. This is Anamaria, and this is my son Jackie."

"Jack," he said, folding his arms.

"Ah, the one who split my lip," Salome said, stepping up to him. "Well, I did hit her on the head, as the Captain said. I really don't know what came over me. Orson's back at the house now."

"Yes, all settled in."

"So we'd feel much better if you came and stayed the night with us. We can draw a hot bath..."

"...an even hotter supper..."

"...and we aren't bad company, if we do say so ourselves."

Jack trudged on behind the rest, unable to grow used to the way the Weyard sisters sentences streamed together. He swallowed when Salome Weyard hopped over to him and took his arm in spite of it not being offered. She patted it and cradled it like a baby.

"Now, now, I forgive you. I suppose I did deserve it, hitting your friend. 'An eye for an eye,' they say, or in this case, a lip for...I don't know, something on top of the head. You'll love our little parlor. It's nothing much, but it's quite spacious for such a small house and we'd be glad to tell your fortunes if you'd like. That's why we don't live on the mainland anymore, you know. Or I suppose you don't know since you're a sailor. Never fear, Jack Sparrow. They won't find us out here."

"Captain Jack Sparrow," he corrected her after a moment's hesitation, taking heed of the "throw caution to the wind" proverb in response to her knowing it was Sparrow and not something else.

"I thought your father said he was the captain." She stopped in her tracks, pulling him back with her, her face suddenly frantic.

"This is what you might call a joint venture."

"Oh! Very good then!" she giggled and continued.

* * *

><p>The cabin was small, Jack noted, a long table with chairs off to the side, a flute and a violin on a chair near the hearth, and a long curtain separating a bed from the rest of the house. It could do for some homey touches, Jack mused dryly, perhaps a bearskin rug on the floor.<p>

"The bear?" Ragetti asked.

"Don't you worry about him! He's outside with his meal for the night. He won't bother anyone."

"Serenity, can you see to the stew?"

"Naturally!" She passed Elizabeth and held out her arm. "Take this and put it up against your head. That should ease the pain. You're really lucky Salome didn't strike you a bit lower. You would have been dead." She giggled loudly enough to cause Elizabeth to flinch while holding the poultice. "That would have been such a shame, what with the..."

"Serenity! Hush!"

"I was just going to say..."

"Hush now! It's not our place, dear." They giggled together, completely oblivious to everyone else's tense backs and shoulders and wide eyes. Serenity hurried over to the stew and spooned some out into plates and cups while Salome took her seat.

"And now, how can we help you further, Captain Teague?"

"Oh, er, help?" Teague stalled.

"You were inquiring as to how to obtain a bear for yourself, weren't you, before we anchored," Jack said, his lip turning up at the coy smirk coming from Elizabeth across the table.

"Jackie..."

"Ladies, is it possible you have a she-bear to spare? Teague gets so lonely, but I won't bore you with that. I suppose it is just too much out of the realm of possibility that you would have two bears and would be willing to part with one." He ignored Teague's glare and the kick he received under the table.

"I'm so sorry. We only have Orson," Serenity spoke.

"And we're too attached to him to part with him."

"That would be so dreadful."

"We could help you on your quest, however. Shall we do that for you?" They didn't wait for an answer. "Oh let's! It's been so long since we've had visitors."

"We'd hate to impose," Elizabeth began. "You, you're already going to enough trouble."

"Nonsense!" they cried at the same time, passing out food in record time. "The food won't interfere."

"But spirits might!" Serenity chuckled. They laughed.

"By spirits she means alcohol," Salome reassured, patting Ragetti's hand. "Real spirits won't interfere unless you want them to."

"I don't like this," Ragetti whined.

"Now then, everyone," Serenity said, finally taking her seat. "Eat up, but first join hands. The chain is strongest if the links remain unbroken. Go on! Don't be shy."

No one seemed willing to offend the sisters, either out of fear or pity, Jack thought, wondering why Pintel's hand was sticky. Cotton's rough, calloused hand took his other.

"Oh, do you feel that, Salome? It's really coming through!"

"I'm so glad!" Salome closed her eyes. "My goodness, a sword! The sword Cygnus!"

Jack's eyes popped open. He'd learned long ago nothing was impossible, given all he had seen, but every now and then he found he needed to scold himself and repeat the mantra.

"The what?" Teague asked, leaning forward to glance at Jack.

"Cygnus, the sword of the swan, forged centuries ago by the Romans," Serenity continued. "They dared not offend Jupiter himself, but wished to appease Juno, the queen of the gods, and made offerings to her to cheer her after her husband's countless affairs."

"It was with Leda that was the last straw...last feather," Salome whispered, causing her sister to snort. "Jupiter had been with many women and many men, but that he appeared as a swan to Leda angered Juno more than any other tryst. She sought the most skilled men in Rome to forge a beautiful sword for her."

"The sword had the ability to kill what was thought could not be killed," Serenity said. "Those who were immortal were only conditionally immortal, as the sword could run them through as easily as a human. Sure the children born of such an ordeal would be gods and goddesses, Juno waited to strike them down."

"A good many people believed Helen of Troy and her brother to be gods, but they were not, and Leda died before Juno could exact her revenge," Salome continued. "She bestowed the sword upon the chief swordsmith as a gift for his efforts."

Jack felt the eyes of everyone at the table on him. Swallowing, he forced out a coy smile.

"And you wonder why I don't like the parrot."

* * *

><p>Jack sat on the rickety porch of the cabin, watching the bear devour a pail full of berries, lumbering around with such a carefree gait it seemed impossible it could be a merciless predator outside the influence of its two strange mistresses. He heard creaks behind him, growing closer and closer.<p>

"Treasures always seem to find their way to you, Jack," Elizabeth said, standing over him.

Case in point, he thought, motioning for her to sit.

"You knew this whole time what it was, didn't you?"

"One doesn't have a tutor like Remo and not hear the story," he coughed. "Of course, I didn't believe it then."

She nodded. "So what do you think has happened to it?"

"Legends spread. I'm living proof." Watching her roll her eyes, he placed his hands on his knees, gripping them, wishing for a rum bottle or a pistol to clean. "Who's to say, really?" Arms touching, he looked at her, studying her still face he caught so often gazing out into the horizon, every cell in his brain wondering what her thoughts were. He glanced back down at his hands when she broke out of her reverie, her mouth scrunching, debating whether or not she should say something out loud, he knew.

"Legends. Perhaps it's a good thing Mr. Gibbs isn't here."

Random, he thought, but his eyebrow rose as a thought hit him. Deciding not to prompt her, he waited.

"I'm not sure I could handle tales of the Pirate King being defeated by a little old lady."

"Love, I've been defeated by a blacksmith, a tribe of simple-minded cannibals, and a pock-faced cur who wears the most ornate hat I've ever beheld," he laughed. "Twice."

"But never by a little old lady," she argued, some spark in her eyes.

"Lord no. Something that humiliating would right do me in." Watching her close her eyes, shake her head, and laugh in spite of herself satisfied him more than it should. Of course, being defeated by a governor's daughter who had never even bothered to brandish a sword could be described as humiliating, too, but he would spare them both that memory, one that was probably running across her mind at this same moment. Say something else, git, he commanded himself.

"I suppose unlikely defeats make the stories more interesting," she sighed.

"Count your blessings again that Mr. Gibbs isn't here."

"We should leave here at daybreak. I, I don't want to be stuck here," she said, hugging herself, her eyes catching sight of the bear, now a black silhouette barely visible through the darkness. A few scattered fireflies hovered around it. "One could go mad here."

"A lovely notion to fall asleep on," he huffed, pouting at her rising, preparing to turn in for the night. Smiling to himself, he decided it was an opportune moment. "You could sleep out here if they frighten you so."

"Because that's what you intend to do?" she countered, her hands on her hips. Jack relaxed against the steps, draping his arm on the rail and stretching out his legs.

"It wouldn't be the first time I held a swan, now that you know the truth."

"I don't think I'd conform to you as easily as a sword, Captain Sparrow."

Oy, "Captain Sparrow." He'd gone too far.

"Your loss. Pleasant dreams, if you can find them amongst the frights." She disappeared into the house without a word, only to come back out after a few seconds. About to turn and throw out some line relaying the importance of remembering how irresistible he was, he saw a pillow and a blanket plop down next to him. She shot him a smile and took her time going back indoors.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The Weyard Sisters are loosely based on the Pigeon Sisters on _The Odd Couple. _They've provided voices for Disney's _Robin Hood _and _The Aristocats_, usually a flaky-but-prim, excitable sort of comedy. I own them, but do not own POTC. Love it or hate it, please leave a review.**


	10. Teague II

"Wait! Oh, Captains, please wait!"

Teague grunted, spinning around to find the Weyard sisters hurrying over to them in their fussy way, each one pulling on a leash that led straight to their bear.

"Don't let it get me!" Ragetti screamed, scampering behind a tree.

"We're prepared for it this time," Pintel said, tapping a heavy wooden bucket. "We'll just catch it off-guard and..." He jumped backwards when the sisters reached them, the bear sticking out a curious paw.

"Orson's on his leash, dear! He's no more than a big dog," Serenity said.

"A big sweetheart," Salome cooed.

"Was there something you ladies needed?" Teague asked, his headache and heavy eyes returning at their mere presence.

"We have some more information," Salome said, clapping her hands.

"For your quest," Serenity clarified. "The Italian man is being held at the Desrosiers Inn in Nova Scotia. It was quite a vision, wasn't it, Salome?"

"Indeed, yes. All the rose bushes and the bluest sky you'd ever seen. It would be a very enviable trip if not for having to rescue a kidnapped man."

"I know, Nova Scotia and Cygnus! You must try to sightsee while you're there."

"Desrosiers Inn. Thank you," Teague said.

"Wait! There's one thing more! Where's the girl, the one I hit?"

Groaning again, Teague craned his head in search of his King. Snapping his fingers at her, he pointed over to the sisters.

"Elizabeth," she snapped at him.

"How's your head feeling, my dear?" Serenity asked.

"It's better now. Thank you. You really don't need to inconvenience yourselves anymore." Teague chuckled. All the tact in the world wouldn't keep these two at bay, and he was sure there had never been a King with more tact than this one, when she felt like using it, of course.

"This is for you to take with you." With as much gusto as if they were old spinster aunts of hers visiting at Christmas, they held out a crossbow. Teague took a step back. A relic, to be sure, he fought an oncoming laugh as the other sister presented her with a quiver of bolts.

"It belonged to our father..."

"...who always used to say Cupid gave it to him to ensnare our mother!" They giggled again.

"Take it with you."

"Under the circumstances, we thought it might be better for you than a sword," Salome said.

"But, oh dear, look! She has a pistol."

"Oh, that does spoil it. We haven't anything else, do we?"

"Maybe she'd like a shovel instead..."

"No, no, thank you," Elizabeth sputtered. "This is so generous. I couldn't take something that belonged to your father." She held it out for them.

"Oh nonsense! Father had dozens of these..."

"...and he only ensnared our mother with the first one..."

"...and this is the fifth one, don't you see?"

"He was a collector."

"And an ensnarer."

"If you insist." Elizabeth smiled and shrugged. "What do you mean 'under the circumstances?'"

"Well, one can be stationary when using this..." Salome said.

"As opposed to a sword."

"Not as exerting." Serenity let out a heaving breath, stifled a sob, and kissed their hands one right after the other. "Oh, God speed! Have a good time and save that man and the sword before it's too late!"

* * *

><p>"That is one I haven't heard tell of," Gibbs whistled as they set sail. "A shame I wasn't there."<p>

"Well, we're all here now and good riddance," Teague said, stepping up to his helm. Each spoke felt warmer to him, the flapping of the sails entwining with the wind a more passionate song than any gypsy's dance. His eyes adjusted to the near-white sunlight gleaming down, making everything seem new. Tipping the brim of his hat with his forefinger and thumb, he exhaled. The _Golden Queen_, Oria Regina Pettirosso.

* * *

><p><em>"I can't go with you." In three days, just three days, he knew what her foreign words meant. The tears glistening in those large chocolate eyes, softer and lighter than his black ones, the way her lip trembled just before it tucked into stubborn stillness—he knew. Missing from his arms when he awoke that morning, he tracked her to her church, kneeling and bathed in the amber gold. Her saints and Savior surrounded her, their eyes all saying the same thing to him.<em>

_ "Perch__é no?" She smiled, the movement in her face causing two tears to drop._

_ "Your accent...it's terrible."_

_ "Why not?"_

_ "I don't know anything about you!" Oria whimpered, her head lowering, curls of raven hair spilling over her. "It's too sudden..." She rattled off more in her native tongue, Teague able to catch only a few familiar words. Just yesterday they'd laughed at his clumsy Italian, trying so hard to be eloquent when she was content to praise him on the simplest words and sentences. _

_ "Please." He kissed her, cupping her cheeks and fighting his own sobs. This is what a slight, __elfin pickpocket had reduced him to, a blubbering mess not fit to return to his own ship. Breaking away from her, he fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around long skinny legs. Her body tensed, so he kissed her skirt, sinking lower to place his lips on the hem. Here was his icon, his saint, the shine in her hair enough of a halo. _

_ "I love you." His confession, not that she hadn't heard it before, the English words not lost on her. And she loved him, too, damn it! Teague knew it the way he knew the days of the week, the phases of the moon. To know she went about her life here while he went about his somewhere else was death, no Last Rites from her. _

_ "What's keeping you here?" he murmured into her skirt. "You have no family, poor as a church mouse..."_

_ "Flatterer," she sighed, wiping her eyes. _

_ "I'll take you around the world and back. I swear! Everything I have is yours. My ship? Yours! I'll give it your name, and everyone we meet will ask about it and I'll say it's you. Your ship, your servants, your world..."_

_ "John."_

_ Her hands found his, her fingers locking through his, gently pulling him to his feet. Not goodbye. He'd maroon himself on some island and starve to death first. He'd gaze into the jaws of the most fearsome monsters the world had to offer. He'd make a pilgrimage to the ends of the world, the very edges of the map..._

_ "I'll come with you."_

_ He sealed the vow with a kiss, refusing to ask if she was sure, if she meant it, if she would change her mind the minute she stepped onto the pier. His. Oria belonged to him in every sense of the word and he wouldn't let go, not for a new face or even the sea._

_ "We cast off at noon," he coughed, gaining a semblance of his voice back. He pressed his forehead into hers. "Just enough time to collect whatever you want to take with you."_

_ "It's as you said. Nothing is keeping me here. Absolutely nothing..." It was her turn to kiss him, and he moaned at the sensation of it, of feeling that hair fall against his chin as she burrowed into him. Her own declaration of love, not her first to him, sent tears streaming down his face, reducing Captain John Teague into a blubbering mess, all right, he thought, and somehow building him back up at the same time._

* * *

><p>"Now if we can manage to avoid anymore senile attempts at courses, we ought to do well." Jack trudged up the steps to him, hands behind his back in a smug manner. Nothing like one's own bastard to ruin the mood, Teague thought.<p>

"My ship."

"My journey," Jack argued.

"Ye might have said this was all about some treasure. Here I thought this man had some sentimental value, of the fatherly type, of course." He'd missed years of scolding, and Lord knew much scolding had been warranted. He didn't wait for a response. "Is that the convoluted plan of the day? Show up under the guise of 'old time's sake' and sweep the man's sword out from under him? Eh? No need to be so secretive about that."

"Don't leave out being mauled to death by a bear," Jack said with a fox's grin. "If that was not a possibility I wouldn't have started out at all."

"Bloody hell, Jackie. You've got two hired muscle, three imbeciles, two women, and two old men out here. I'd say the bear is the least of your worries."

"Does that mean you have more tricks up your sleeve for us?"

"It means this isn't some silly chest of jewels or sacking a ship. Men have searched for ways to kill immortals since the beginning of time. That's not something to take lightly."

"Who was it so keen on coming along in the first place?" Jack balked. "I recall at no such time pleading for help of any kind."

"I came along to be with you!" Teague hissed through gnashed teeth.

"That explains why everything so far has been so unpromising," Jack whispered, motioning for Teague to "shoo" as it was now his shift at the helm. His knuckles aching to strike, Teague instead backed up and drew his sword.

"Don't push away those who want you, boy. It'll haunt you more than anything else ever will." Sheathing his sword, Teague headed below decks.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Apparently, the projectiles for a crossbow are called bolts, shorter and heavier than standard arrows. Learn something every day! The dialogue about the dangers of pursuing the sword borrows a little from _Raiders of the Lost Ark_.**


	11. Gibbs III

Gibbs flung a coat over his shirt and vest, the air growing more and more brisk. It was a far cry from the warm Caribbean waters, not freezing but nippy enough to make almost everything damned uncomfortable. Puritan country, this, he thought, rolling his tongue around in a revolting mixture of fear, disdain, and disappointment. The sooner Cape Cod was to their stern the better.

"Mr. Gibbs."

Jack swung a lantern over their heads, the first rays of sunlight not yet reaching the ship. Bundled up in his coat too, he held up a parchment.

"What be this?"

"This, mate, will secure us the _Pearl_."

Gibbs snatched the parchment out of Jack's hands. It was a report, a warning that "dreaded sinner" Hector Barbossa and his ship that was "blacker than the foulest demon" had been sighted. Here, Port Royal, and every colony in between would welcome the opportunity to play host to the blackguard's execution.

"What's he doin' all the way up here?" Gibbs asked.

"The same thought came to me, only for a far more pressing one to take over." Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "What difference does it make?"

"Blast it, Jack! We aren't supposed to make port anywhere else until Nova Scotia!"

"Leave that to me."

"You have a plan?"

"Mr. Gibbs!" Jack's hand flew to his chest in mock offense. "Who am I?" Shooting him a smile, he turned to go.

"Wait a minute. I should fetch the others, shouldn't I? Barbossa's not going to hand over the _Pearl _willingly."

"Indeed not. Said reason is exactly the same reason not to fetch the others."

"That seems a might illogical."

"To quote Captain Teague on it..." Jack stopped. Gibbs followed his gaze towards Pintel and Ragetti trying to toss pebbles into an empty bottle with no success. "...they're imbeciles."

He clamored over to near the bow where Anamaria was teaching Elizabeth to use her crossbow.

"Sight it the same way you would a musket," she was saying. Elizabeth brought the weapon back up and closed an eye. "Fire!"

The bolt shot up into the sky, soaring further and further out of sight until they spotted the makings of a ripple far out on the horizon.

"What exactly are you trying to hit?" Jack asked, his chin resting in his fist.

"Nothing yet. It's only to grow familiar with it," Elizabeth said, preparing a second bolt.

"And this is how you teach her?" Jack sauntered to Anamaria, waving her aside and stepping in between them. "Take no heed, Lizzie. One might assume she's teaching you so poorly on purpose, that you'll find learning to keep track of the figures of their shipyard more rewarding."

"I don't remember you being invited to share your opinion!" Anamaria snapped. Now Gibbs saw his chance.

"Cap'n's never missed anything he wanted to hit, be it with a pistol or otherwise."

"Fine. If you think you can do better."

Ignoring all of them, Elizabeth fired the crossbow again on her own, squaring her shoulders a little more. The bolt shot further out than the last one, disappearing into the cold sea before them. Gibbs snickered and shook his head. The same lass that found pirates so fascinating on the voyage from England to Port Royal all those years ago, and make no mistake. But he couldn't acknowledge the vast improvement. Summoning up as much seriousness as he could, he coughed and folded his arms in front of him.

"I think I'm doing just fine if the rest of you would rather argue somewhere else," Elizabeth said, leaning against the rail to load another bolt.

"Er, Anamaria, do you know much about sea turtles?" he ventured, taking her by the arm to steer her towards the galley. Huffing, she threw her hands up into the air and marched into the galley far ahead of him. There now. There was no need to keep Jack and Elizabeth from being alone and letting nature take its course, a tempestuous one, to be sure, but natural.

"Where are you off to?" Teague asked, suddenly right in front of him.

"Oh, I was, I was..."

"Helm. Relieve Dalton."

Wincing, Gibbs cleared his throat all the way to where the gigantic man stood, guarding the helm more so than simply steering.

"Captain says I'm to relieve you," he said, cheerful and outgoing. Dalton turned a stiff neck towards him and grunted. A few morbid touches here and there and this one and the other could pass for zombies, he thought, eyes widening. "Captain's orders." Grunting again, Dalton limped away, his right boot scraping the deck the only sound.

"It's a moving target what you need," he heard Jack say. From up here he could look right down on them, Gibbs thought, blinking and leaning over. He straightened himself out and then paused. Gulping at his own pirate nature, he leaned back over, keeping the corner of one eye on the ocean.

"What would you recommend?" Elizabeth retorted. Jack explored their immediate surroundings, jolting up at her tone.

"Oy! Bound to be something here. If this were my ship..." Trailing off, he bumbled out of Gibbs' sight until he returned with a dartboard.

"Those don't move."

"Nay, but the lack of resources coupled with the practicality of combat techniques compel you to learn to be precise and not waste your bolts." He set the dartboard against the rail on the starboard side and ushered them to port side with his typical brand of flourish. Gibbs chuckled at that, and again when Jack motioned with only his hands for her to give him the crossbow to demonstrate. He took aim and fired. Not perfectly centered, but definitely a fatal wound, Gibbs thought, nodding. Might have pierced a lung...

"Bugger. Let me try again."

"Who was it mentioned not wasting bolts?" Elizabeth asked, smirking.

"Fine. Bring it up like so. No, place the butt against your shoulder." Jack edged around her and placed a stretched hand on her shoulder blade, gently pushing until it met the butt. "Keep your eyes on your target." He bent down only a fraction until they were at equal heights. "Line up your sights."

At that moment, his head turned just enough towards hers she fired, the roundness of her mouth and the accompanying pout clear signs she had not meant to release the bolt. Gibbs glanced over at the target. The new bolt protruded right between the top and the center of the board. Still not bad.

"The sort that goes for the jugular, eh?" Jack teased, frowning at her stern expression. "It is all about making the other man dead before you, isn't it? This way." Gibbs almost laughed at Elizabeth's perfectionism before placing a fist to his mouth. "This time, keep your arms steady and keep even pressure on your trigger there. Just like a pistol. Deep breath."

The bolt was still a tad high, but much closer to the center. Jack bustled over to collect the bolts. On the other side of the ship, Elizabeth's shoulders sank.

"Let's go again, shall we?" Jack called to her, grabbing the last bolt. Gibbs smiled at Elizabeth grinning for a split second, right before summoning up a more neutral demeanor. "Let me have another go." He wiggled his fingers for effect. "You can scout for seagulls in the interim. They make suitable targets."

"Squab," Elizabeth said with an airy tone, her nose in the air. Jack hit the dartboard dead center. That's Jack for you, Gibbs thought, his chest swelling. He watched as Jack pulled Elizabeth closer, giving the crossbow back to her, his arms lingering over hers.

"Just take your time like you did last time."

"I need to lower it a little."

They adjusted it together, the sides of their heads touching. Gibbs wondered if it would take a thunderbolt from Zeus himself to force them to face each other that closely . She inhaled, her chest heaving slightly. If he were a few years younger, maybe he would start to fancy her, Gibbs mused, noting their legs were positioned in such a way that if all this was arousing Jack's, er, interest, she would feel it. They shifted, must be where she wants it.

"All yours, love," he whispered to her. The bolt slammed into the center of the dartboard. It was like the victory the _Pearl _achieved over the _Endeavor_, the two of them smiling at the same thing out in the distance.

"Land ho!" Cotton's parrot prattled from somewhere. Shaking off the daydreaming and resolving to never eavesdrop again, Gibbs steered the ship farther away towards the open sea. Perhaps the _Pearl _awaited them, but for now he had to wait and trust Jack's plan to make an unexpected stop would come to fruition.

* * *

><p>Later that day, Gibbs kept quiet, the usual stories and remarks on the tip of his tongue replaced by replaying the day's events in his mind.<p>

"Say this all again," he heard Teague say. Teague and Jack, along with Teague's two...flunkies, Gibbs decided, sat on barrels out on the deck.

"I shouldn't have to. It's rather easy," Jack said. "Shows a sign of old age..."

"Get on with it."

"It's like the knights of old. They had their swords and they had their shields. Didn't have a pistol for the other arm back then, savvy?"

"And this shield...?"

Jack unleashed a long, exaggerated exhale. "The sword won't work without the shield. Remo failed to put said information in the letter because for one, then his assailants would be privy to said information, and two, I was already privy to said information and the letter was for me, in case you forgot. One wonders where your head would be if it wasn't attached to you."

"You expect me to believe that you know the shield is here and yet you don't know what's become of the sword?" Teague asked, his voice raising. "And didn't you say you hadn't had any contact with this Ramone..."

"Remo."

"Whatever."

"Mr. Gibbs can vouch for me, can't you, sir?" Jack shot him a childlike, hopeful look.

"Er, the shield! Of course! See, a long time ago, the Spartans would depend on their shields for all manner of formations, forming living barricades. I don't need to go in detail about how useless going up against an immortal would be without a shield."

"Gruesome details, those," Jack added.

"And what does this shield look like?" Teague crossed his arms.

"Well, like the sword! All silvery and swan-like." Gibbs held his breath, imagining black sails disappearing further and further into nothingness. Teague shook his head, his hands up with the palms facing them.

"Every stop we make is a risk to the whole crew," he said.

"One could look at it that way," Jack said. "Or, arriving at Nova Scotia for the sole purpose of recovering the sword without said shield may be an enormous waste of everyone's time and put us at a detrimental disadvantage to unknown dastardly finks who may have the sword already." Father and son stared at each other, each one searching the other for a tell, some giveaway, and neither relenting.

"Very well," Teague sighed. "But I'm staying on the ship for this one. How much of my crew will you be borrowing?"

"Only Mr. Gibbs and me one-sy."

"And Elizabeth," Gibbs chimed in, ignoring Jack's blank stare at him.

"Aye," Teague said, nodding. With a tired, resigned stride that made Gibbs question whether he believed them or not, Teague leaned down towards the steps that led below decks. His fingers tapped his knees, tentative swaying following.

"El...you!" he shouted down. Jack and Gibbs exchanged a bewildered look.

"Elizabeth!"

"You're wanted on deck," Teage said, plopping back onto his barrel and taking his guitar in hand. Elizabeth ran up the steps, coat on and hair loose, a hat almost meeting her eyebrows.

"For goodness sake, Captain Teague, my name isn't that hard," she said, standing over him with her hands in her pockets.

"Got a sword on you?"

"And a pistol."

"Good. These two clods say they need you." He waggled a lazy finger at them. "If you put holes in one of my longboats, I'll skin all three of you alive."

* * *

><p>Gibbs tucked his chin into his chest, hugging himself for warmth. His gloves were without fingers, his head without a hat. The thought of the sword harnessed at his belt, the cold metal, chilled him. They bustled, half for warmth and half for time. Apparently, the locals had more sense than they did, as people in and around the harbor were sparse. For once, Jack made it obvious he was staring at Elizabeth, a questioning, studious stare meant to prompt her into speech. Gibbs prayed she would yield to it sooner than later.<p>

"What?"

"Why won't Teague say your name?" Jack asked, his forehead knitted.

"I have no idea. It's as if it's awkward for him." Elizabeth sighed, shivering. She tucked her lips into her mouth, her tongue running over her teeth. "Bloody annoying."

"I need specifics, Lizzie. Do you intimidate him?" Jack came closer. "If that be the case, you must teach me."

"Why are we really out here? The Weyard sisters never mentioned a shield."

"Because there is no shield. There is, however, a ship."

"Show her the report, Jack!" Gibbs almost shouted, his features lightening and lifting, at last able to share the secret. Elizabeth took the parchment. Her mouth fell open. Glancing up at them with a renewed fervor, she handed it back without a word.

"But what's the _Pearl _doing all the way up here?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

"Not making merry the way it would back where we come from, to be sure," Jack muttered, scanning the harbor. Gibbs' eyes jumped from mast to mast to mast, a forest of ships rocking back and forth waiting for their crews to come wake them. Teague allotted two hours to search for the ship, shield, Gibbs corrected himself. Hmm, there was a thought.

"Jack, what do we say when and if we return with a ship and not the shield?"

"You say, 'oh fancy that. I guess I had me legends crossed.' And then I say, 'it has been a treat sailing with you, an education in second-rate ships, but I'd best be about me and mine now.'" His gold teeth glistened in the lamplight. Just then, he stopped. "Lizzie?"

They caught up to her at the end of the long harbor, in conversation with a spectacled gentleman with an disproportional amount of buckles on his person.

"And you say they've been raiding town after town since?" she asked, her face tomato red.

"Indeed. A scourge, no doubt! A plague sent by those above to punish those below." He shook his head solemnly. "They came in the dead of night like ghosts, pillaging everything in sight, leaving devastation in their wake. They've only kept going inland. We'd gladly set fire to their ship, but there are so many merchants who come through here. We couldn't do that to them."

"I understand," Elizabeth said, touching his arm. "Is this the only harbor nearby?"

"Yes, miss. Oh, for the simpler days when all the Caribbean riffraff stayed put! There's no need to bring Sodom and Gomorrah all the way to our peaceful part of the world," he whimpered.

"Thank you," she said after a pause. "We'll be on our guard." The man tipped his hat and left them. "That explains why it's so quiet. People have either fled or are trying to stop Barbossa." She sighed to herself and brought her hands up to her mouth to warm them. "I am sorry he didn't know where the _Pearl _was, though."

"I'll manage to forgive him somehow," Jack muttered, quickening his pace to a bend in the harbor. Gibbs and Elizabeth darted after him. He stopped, suddenly feeling a presence. There above him, a familiar figurehead with almond-shaped eyes turned heavenward jutted out just underneath the bowsprit, preparing to send a bird off into flight.

"Sweet Jesus," he murmured, glancing over at Jack. Lost in the proximity of it all, Jack shook his head and dashed to the end of the pier and back.

"No one's minding her, as far as I can see," he said, cautious eyes and a thoughtful mouth fighting the temptation to cheer. "A bit like the worm on a hook, isn't it?"

"We could go back and bring the others," Gibbs suggested. He'd come this far and everyone might as well be present, he thought. It would take all of them to hold him back if he was ordered to leave.

"Three raises enough suspicion." Jack began to climb aboard.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth hissed at him.

"Barbossa's bound to have hired a few new hands. For once anonymity might be advantageous. Savvy?" He strolled around until he was up on the deck, whistling a few notes here and there. It reminded Gibbs of hikers purposely alerting snakes to their presence to avoid scaring one into attack. Stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, Jack cocked his head at them, one hand on his pistol. Might have been nice for Elizabeth to have brought her crossbow, Gibbs thought, gritting his teeth as he climbed up the worn way, felt the familiar warm wood under his boots, and felt the lightest breeze tease the heavy sails.

"Hey!"

The three of them turned to see two scraggly men, one pudgier than the other with thick eyebrows. The other, although slightly smaller, held the same obtuse expression.

"What do you want?" the smaller one said. Jack immediately rolled his eyes at the same time Elizabeth stifled a short gasp.

"Murtogg and Mulroy," she whispered to Gibbs.

"Who?"

"Two of James' men...turned pirates, obviously," she said, glancing over at Jack the same time he did, watching him stare down the pair like a predator.

"Gentlemen! Indeed you are a sight for sore eyes!" Jack's arms flew up in the air and landed hard on both their shoulders. They grimaced, but remained stoic. "Pirates after my own heart."

"Th-th-thank you," the larger one said. "Now be off with you. This is our ship."

"Captain Barbossa's, actually," the smaller one clarified.

"But not yours, all the same."

"All the same." Jack nodded. "After all, inexperienced sailing men as yourselves could never be captains of a ship, especially one the likes of this one."

"Be that as it may," Murtogg said. "You have no business here."

"Talking of business, I hear your colleagues are conducting theirs elsewhere, once again rendering the two of you left behind." Clearing his throat, Jack paced in front of them, alternating between looks of amusement and pity.

"Someone has to guard the ship," Mulroy said, a rehearsed response, Gibbs thought. Maybe this was meant to be a distraction. He could probably go right on up to the helm while Elizabeth released the lines and they would be off, shanghaiing two more clowns in the process. But the two men weren't blinded to their surroundings just yet.

"Guard the ship? Who in this pious, law-abiding region would be mad enough to even attempt to commandeer such an imposing vessel? Look around you! You've been so besotted by her cruel beauty you fail to see the fear she inspires!"

Murtogg and Mulroy scanned the ship with nervous eyes.

"Black sails, black keel, black hull- there was an undead monkey somewhere..."

"Captain's taken it with him."

"Ah! There you have it. A familiar! Witch's companions. And this lady, if you'll follow me." They obeyed, although Gibbs had a feeling they felt emboldened to follow just now, like children climbing the fence into a graveyard.

"This lady," Jack continued, holding onto the rigging and leaning down towards the figurehead. "The stories say she becomes a full skeleton with glowing red eyes when the moon is full."

"That's rubbish," Mulroy laughed. "We've sailed under a full moon."

"But we were never looking at her," Murtogg whispered to him.

"We would have noticed."

"How? You lean over and take a look at the figurehead when you're swabbing the deck or trimming the sails?"

"Well...no..."

"Face it, gentlemen," Jack said. "It's only a matter of time before the ship shows her true colors."

Gibbs remained silent, intent on letting Jack work his magic, and it was just about complete, too. Those two looked terrified of their own shadows. He tilted his head to mention it to Elizabeth, but she was gone. He spun in a full circle, looking all around the deck, but no sign of her. About to open his mouth, he clamped it shut. Jack still had the men at the bow, almost completely in his thrall.

"...the dead don't want to leave their ships, ye see. I'd wager on nights like this you can hear them rustling and stirring trouble if you're quiet enough."

Sure enough, Gibbs could hear chains rattling below decks, heavy footsteps accompanying it. Screaming, the men took off, sprinting down onto the pier and into the town so fast it was a wonder they didn't trip. Well out of earshot, Gibbs unleashed a deep laugh.

"That's tellin' 'em, eh! Ha ha! Is there nothin' you can't do, Jack?"

"Motivations were strong, Mr. Gibbs." Pausing, he finally winked and grinned from ear to ear.

"Pity we can't celebrate."

"I would say the proverbial leash attaching us to Captain Teague being lengthened somewhat is celebration enough for now." Jack stood with his hands on his hips, surveying his spoils. "Welcome home."

"Aye! Welcome home!"

"Prepare to cast off!"

Elizabeth emerged from the bowels of the ship, a guarded smile on her face.

"And what play is complete without its stage hands?" Jack called down, already at the helm and immersing himself in the sensation. "Chains down there are bloody heavy, aren't they?" Feeling the ship take its first step out of the harbor, he didn't wait for her answer. "Almost gave me a turn, darling. Do assist with the casting off and then you shall have earned your presence here."

"Are you saying you expect me to give up my first mate status on the _Golden Queen_?" she shouted up to him, a bit short of breath.

"A commoner in paradise or queen of a pig hovel. Your choice."

"I prefer being King," she reminded him, scurrying around the deck, seeing to everything necessary.

"You'd think I'd forget to take heed of that?" he teased down to her. Gibbs made sure to look from the corner of his eye.

"Yes."

"You know me too well, love, I mean, Your Highness." Jack saluted her.

And Gibbs was sure he could see Elizabeth's eyes dance.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A couple things here. First, I need to stop inventing scenes that require research, lol. I'm aware that the people who lived in New England during this time didn't dress the way we stereotypically think of a Pilgrim, but there would have been something of a culture shock compared to the people who lived in the Caribbean and southern colonies back then, and I wanted to make the most of it. Next, I debated for a long time just how careless Barbossa would be with the _Black Pearl _only to conclude that regaining it and having a new appreciation for life after being resurrected might make him go a little overboard with the whole "carpe diem" philosophy. Plus, after not seeing Jack for so long, he might figure he'd lost him for another ten years and no one else would want the _Pearl _badly enough to try to take it from him...or be stupid enough to commandeer it right from under his nose. If you think it is just way too easy, well, keep reading. Also, anyone know which one is Murtogg and which one is Mulroy? I hope it wasn't obvious in my writing that I don't know which is which. Thank you to those who have left anonymous reviews. I try to respond to every review I get, but since I can't to yours, thank you.**


	12. Jack III

Truly the new legends that would surely sprout up about this feat would not be able to do a man like him justice, Jack thought, sitting on a barrel, his head resting on his arms which were back against the door to his cabin. His cabin. It's what should have been following the East India Trading Company battle- a fine moment of nothing followed by rum and other self-indulgence in his cabin. The ship creaked, singing to him how fine it was to be back under his masterful hands.

Teague blanched at the sight of them returning with the _Pearl, _much to Jack's satisfaction, although two ships warranted splitting up the crew. Teague hadn't bothered to secure Gibbs. No one would dare deprive the man of his own reunion with the ship. But that had made the rest of the negotiation agonizingly long.

* * *

><p><em>"I'm keeping Titus and Dalton," Teague said, sitting behind his desk in his cabin, forcing Jack to stand up on the other side of it. <em>

_ "I'd love to feign disappointment, but it would make me feel too dirty."_

_ "Very well. That's Gibbs for you and two for me. I expect you want me to keep Anamaria, to keep her off your back." Teague sat his head in his palm and chuckled. "Or, I suppose, off her back."_

_ "Don't tell me you want her for yourself."_

_ "The flesh wants what it wants, but I have no such designs on her," Teague sighed. "The rest can be dealt out, I take it?"_

_ They could, but for one nagging thought that was proof that when one gets what one wants, it's only natural to want more._

_ "I do owe the King for her assistance," he said coolly. "Might as well take her to our destination in style."_

_ Teague laughed, a knowing laugh that furrowed Jack's brow. _

_ "She'll want to take her pets with her, hmm?" He certainly hadn't allowed Elizabeth to forget Cotton, Pintel, and Ragetti's actions directly affected her fate, going so far as to bark an order to her meant for them._

_ "Her knights," Jack found himself saying. Bloody hell, what are you doing, mate? Suffering them on your ship? She doesn't even like them as much as all that. It's not as if she wouldn't go without them...familiar faces she can trust... "I'm having a thought. You keep Cotton and that insolent bird and I'll take the other two. Five and five."_

_ "Done." Teague stood and offered his hand. An accord then, Jack thought, shaking it, only for Teague to clutch his entire arm when he tried to break free. He pulled him closer to him, Jack instantly feeling like a child._

_ "You may be able to hide what you want from everyone else, but not your old man. I've been there, done that."_

_ Jack gulped, disliking the cornered, undone feeling coming over him._

_ "Then like all things, I'll just have to do it better."_

* * *

><p>Yes, he'd wanted her on the ship, wanted the banter that could go on from sunup to sundown, wanted glimpses of her silhouetted against a sunrise, wanted every opportunity to see her in her element, for Lizzie never looked so confident or so comfortable than when she was at sea. It had taken the better part of a year after meeting her to...to fall in love with her, and then vow revenge, then avoid her, then form the most awkward of truces with her, and then try to forget her all over again in the span of just about three months. All the while not knowing how she felt.<p>

She wanted him, sometimes, that much he knew. Elizabeth was far from immune when it came to exhibiting all the signs other women displayed when they wanted him. Pressed against her when she was still learning her crossbow, he could feel the heat rising in her, how she struggled to catch her breath. Each rise and fall of her chest made more and more of his restraint melt. Last night, taking back the _Pearl _with her clouded his judgment enough to tempt him to leap down from the helm, take her in his arms, and leave no inch of her unkissed, untouched. And he might have been able to get away with it.

If only she loved him.

Jack rose without a sound and crept into his cabin, the seas calm and everything mundane once more. Pulling out atlas after atlas, map after map, he busied himself with studying everything and nothing- the contours of distant lands he'd been to and some he had not, lakes and waterfalls, mountains and deserts. A knock at the door broke his concentration. Ignoring it, he read the foreign words gracing every stretch of land, each one already discovered and claimed...blast that incessant knocking, so courteous and insistent Jack knew who it was. Speak of the devil...

"Enter."

Elizabeth all but stumbled in, her face so white, her body trembling so intensely he wondered if she was really there.

"Lost?" he asked, affirming she was real. Specter-Lizzie would have never given him that look.

"I need to sit." She mouthed it, her voice shaking. He reached for a bottle of rum, knowing she would wave it away as he'd only ever seen her take a swig once. But she looked the part of someone who desperately needed a drink. That much was sure. Hunched over in the chair, he feared she'd collapse.

"I didn't know who else to tell," she said, her voice flat.

"Tell me." I'll fix it, love. Whatever it is. He ran his fingers down her hair until she locked eyes with him.

"I'm with child."

* * *

><p><em>Sharing a basin, Elizabeth and Anamaria stripped down, sponges in hand, more blankets forming a curtain around them. Elizabeth could feel her skin prickle at the sensation of the cold water hitting her face and neck. The air nipped at her the way it might have had she been in a snowstorm when she lifted her arm to wash underneath it. <em>

_ "A shame you'll be leaving," Anamaria said, applying the same diligent washing while fighting off shivers. "There won't be as many to talk to."_

_ About to cheer her up with an overlooked correction, Elizabeth held her tongue. Titus and Dalton had little to say that wasn't a grunt, and Cotton..._

_ "Captain Teague could probably spin a yarn or two."_

_ "Charming," Anamaria snorted. "Although I could do with the silence."_

_ "What's the matter?"_

_ "It's another reason I followed Jack out here," she said. "I might not have mentioned it to you- Gabriel, my brother? He's recently married."_

_ "Do you not like her?" Elizabeth asked._

_ "It's not that. She's actually very sweet, but...she's not used to the sea or to ships. And I'm used to it being just Gabe and me. We inherited the yard, and I'm sure I don't have to tell you how nauseating newlyweds are. 'I love you.' 'I love you more.' 'No, I love you more.'" She made a disgusted face and dipped her sponge back into the water before scrubbing her legs. "It was time to get away from it. I expect I'll like her much more once I'm back. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder."_

_ Elizabeth nodded, lost in her own bust and waistline. It looked more like a stranger's than her regular figure. _

_ "A little time apart might do you good," she said, distracted._

_ "Elizabeth? They're called breasts. You should be well acquainted with them by now," Anamaria laughed, waiting for Elizabeth to join her. "Are you all right?"_

_ "It doesn't make sense," she sighed. "On the way to Singapore, I was positively gaunt. I wondered if I would make myself sick. Now...I know it's an easier voyage, but these?" She cupped the foreign breasts underneath her. "These weren't here before."_

_ "You might have just not been giving them any attention."_

_ "It's a subtle change," Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "But it's there." They paused in their washing, Anamaria studying her with a frown. She considered asking the other woman what she was thinking, retracting at the sight of her mouth scrunching and her cheeks suddenly blushing._

_ "Elizabeth, when...when was the last time you bled?" she whispered, keeping a hand on their makeshift curtain as if to keep a spy's ears at bay. _

_ "Oh, I bl...there was a little after I was...after I was with Will," she whispered back. "But it wasn't much." The anxious face in front of her told her what decorum and privacy prevented being discussed aloud. Her hand flew down to her abdomen, the occasional dizzy spell, the appetite—everything beginning to become pieces of a puzzle she wasn't sure she could put together at the moment. _

_ "You, you don't suppose you're..." Anamaria trailed off, tactfully hurrying to finish her wash and dress. Elizabeth threw her sponge back into the basin and dove to her clothes, fastening every button and smoothing every crease with extra speed. How could she have been so stupid? She knew how a baby was made. Her hand drifted back to her abdomen. Not knowing yet if it was safe to let in this new, fluttery feeling of sheer joy or if it would be more appropriate to burst into tears, her body concentrated on making small, circular caresses around where a bump would eventually emerge. _

_ "Do you want to stay on this ship?" Anamaria asked. "I helped deliver two of my cousins."_

_ "I need..." Blast it, what did she need? What did her baby need? "I need to tell Jack about it." She started to pull the blanket after making sure Anamaria was decent. "Anamaria, for now, don't __tell anyone. Please?"_

_ "Just between us." Anamaria nodded._

* * *

><p>Jack remained still crouched in front of her, his hand still against the tips of her hair, but in his mind he paced about furiously in his cabin, thumping around with hundreds of thoughts flying about in the air and not one within his grasp.<p>

"You're sure?"

"Yes. It all makes sense now." She'd taken on that calm, that calm one musters when the other person is about to fly off the handle, Jack thought. A mother's calm. Ha! He knew better. His own mother always appeared the very picture of calm when he knew her circumstances and volatile personality rendered her a churning tempest inside. All right, since you know it all now, he wanted to spit out, you tell me what you want to do. No, idiot, he corrected himself. You're the Captain.

"We can stop somewhere and settle you..."

"Good lord, Jack, you'd leave me in a strange place alone right now?" she snapped.

"No." He cursed his mind for shutting off. He needed to think, to send her out so he could think, to hold her so he could think. He finally began to pace, only to let his head fall back against the bulkhead. "I trust you have some way of notifying your husband," he said, eyes closed in thought. First things first.

"There's no need to be so cold," she said. "You're not the one carrying it."

His eyebrow arched at that. He hadn't meant to be cold.

"Then if you have no intention of making berth somewhere..." Poor choice of words, mate. "Then you do intend to continue on?" Jack paused, waiting for a fiery affirmative. "Bloody hell, Lizzie, you are the one carrying it. That rather trumps any plan I may throw out."

"So you don't know what to do either?"

_You spent three days lying on a beach drinking rum?_

"Can't say it's something that often crops up." Something about that split second of vulnerability, almost a child reaching out for guidance put his mind on full alert. "You have two choices as I see it and neither one is what you or I would call ideal. We can make ber...port, find a place to get you settled in, and I'll come back once Remo is safe. You've got my word on that. Or, you come along, we survey the situation when we arrive at our destination and go from there. Either you will be willing and able to assist or you won't, in which case you'll stay on the ship. Upon finishing said mission, we take you to the Cove and you can wait ten years to see the proud father's face."

Elizabeth stood, steadier than when she came in, and edged toward him. She stopped inches from him, so close, so tantalizingly close, he almost pushed his face forward to kiss her. Stay, he wanted to beg. Stay with me and I'll take care of you. Perhaps that's what she was searching for on him, he wondered.

"I'm staying."

"No going back."

"I know."

"You'll get weaker."

"I have a crossbow."

"You'll get fatter."

"Only in one place," she said, her eyes softening, although they still hadn't blinked. She shifted her weight onto her back leg, preparing to turn, but staying put as if taking her leave was a surrender of some kind. For a moment, Jack wondered if she was daring him to kiss her...and if he was daring her to do the same, for he hadn't moved either.

"Jack," she said, breaking away, obviously coming to the same revelation he did at the same time. "Not a word to anyone yet," she said on her way out. Not until the door closed could Jack exhale.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Not sure if I have to show with every chapter that I don't own POTC.**


	13. Teague III

Rolling hills with just hints of red awaited them. A few small shacks greeted them at the harbor. Wars and raids in the past few years must have been the cause for such quiet, Teague thought, the stately houses hiding behind the treeline along with steeples of boxy churches. Desrosiers Inn shouldn't be too far a journey from the harbor. The crew of the _Black Pearl _disembarked minutes after his own crew did.

"Plan," he said, folding his arms and waiting.

"Oy! One must adjust to walking on solid ground first," Jack huffed.

"You know anything about this inn?"

"I am shocked and appalled you have so little faith in me." Not bothering to wait for more assurance, Teague turned towards Gibbs.

"You know anything about this inn?" he asked again.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Captain," Gibbs sang, lifting a finger to the air and bounding over to Jack. Elizabeth followed, the crossbow slung over her shoulder.

"Now hold on. Not everyone needs to scout out one building." He cleared his throat, widened his mouth to say her name, but no voice erupted, only a stifled creak of some kind. "Your crossbow can await better things."

"Nonsense. It has a wide range. I thought I'd be a guardian angel of sorts." Merriment and snark seemed to know no bounds on the _Pearl_, Teague concluded, snorting. Behind her, Pintel and Ragetti held pistols at the ready with as much eagerness as children in a confectioner's shop. Disaster or dumb luck awaited all of them.

"Very well. Jackie, you come with me and we'll have ourselves a nice pint. You others can rent out the rooms. We'll be able to narrow down which ones this Benedetti is being held captive in that way. The women will stay next door."

Anamaria bellowed, "pardon me" at the same time Elizabeth insisted she needed neither assistance nor company.

"Fine. Anamaria, you'll join the others." He stomped towards Elizabeth, eyes narrowed, hawk nose parallel to the ground, but she stood firm. "You know you can expect trouble?"

"I'll manage," she snapped, that royal air surfacing. Confound it, he'd about forgotten how quickly the King's regal confidence could stand aside for combative rage. Rolling his eyes, he threw a tired arm over Jack, gripping the boy's shoulder with more force than necessary.

"Desrosiers, ho."

Indeed the inn was not far from the harbor, a gingerbread-esque cottage with vines hugging the bricks. Around the grounds, they passed one rose bush after another. Next door, right after a narrow alley, a taller building with a hanging sign that said "general store" stood. Trim freshly painted, brass polished- quite the fairytale setting for a kidnapping, Teague thought.

The inside proved just as soft. He wrinkled his nose at the overwhelming aroma of roses, a vase at every table and two matching ones at either end of the mantle. Floral pinks and crimsons...

"A far cry from Tortuga," he heard Jack murmur. For once they were in agreement.

They marched to where an elderly man, bald at the top save for his liver spots, smiled at them from behind a counter. Teague signaled for two pints of ale, taking a seat on the long-legged chairs scattered around a few plain tables.

"You gentlemen hear with the navy?" he asked. Teague and Jack shot each other a look.

"Nay, good man," Jack spoke. "Although our business is with them. Did you not recognize Lord John Teague when you saw him?"

"I, I...no."

"I'd trade an entire navy in exchange for just one of these," he continued. "Apparently so would everyone else as they've called on Lord Teague here for a consultation, you might say."

"A consultation? I was never informed of any..."

"Well why should you be? Wouldn't want to start a panic, like what they've got going on south of here with the pirates." Jack shook his head and clucked his tongue. "I wouldn't put my trust in the navy even if they were occupying this entire inn."

"They are occupying this entire inn," the man said, puffing up his chest. "The Admiral said it was the best place for their operation and he paid me a pretty penny for all this quartering. Now no one mentioned to me any lord or whatever you say he is coming here, and I don't have anymore room as it is. Now I can recommend a few other places around here..."

"This is the place to be!" Jack slammed his hand down on the counter and Teague tried not to laugh, his eyes shining. "You said so yourself. You go and get the nearest lieutenant or whoever failed to keep the very owner of this establishment in the know. Of all the cockamamie..." He turned towards Teague. "Wait until the governor hears about this, sir. I daresay someone will pay..."

"Let's not do something we'll all regret!" the little old man squeaked, coming out from behind the counter, a mug and a bottle in hand. "They're all upstairs right now, but I'll let them know you're here. Now how about that drink?" He poured some ale into the mug.

"All upstairs, you say?" Jack asked, taking the bottle.

"Last room on the right so I'll go on now..." Before he could say another word, Jack brought the bottle down right onto the top of the little man's head. He slumped to the floor with a quick thud.

"What's the navy's interest in your tutor?" They each grabbed an arm and dragged the man behind the counter.

"They must know about the sword." Jack grabbed a broom and swept the shards of glass to the corner, "I do hope that was cheap." He bent down and sniffed the spilled ale. "Not sure I would have liked it."

"Jackie."

They raced up the stairs, a vast array of closed doors before them. Last one on the right, he said, Teague remembered, shrugging and starting with the first door on his right, the only other sound breaking the silence being Jack opening the first on the left. Sounds of scuffling from doors further down arrived as if on cue. We're running out of time was the only immediate thought coming to mind as each door brought them closer to the last on the right. Pausing to see if Jack fared any better, Teague watched him open the next one.

A long wooden bedpost leaped out and jabbed Jack right in the gut, sending him reeling back. Teague drew his sword and dove in between the door and his son, hunched over and mumbling a few choice words.

In front of him, a tall man with a large forehead growled at him, holding the bedpost in a position ready for parrying. White curls with minds of their own framed the rest of his head. His eyes gleamed with a brilliant madness, sea-blue with brown and black flecks.

"I told you," he said in a thick accent, his back straightening. "The next time you try to take me anywhere, you'll be dead!"

Teague had no time to digest the vow, blocking another attack with the bedpost. Seasoned and swift, practiced and elegant...time was running out, he reminded himself between blows.

"Remo!" Jack called, running up to them. "Remo, stop, mate." With tentative hands, he touched the man's wrists.

"Who speaks to me in such a way?"

They looked at each other, Jack throwing him a boyish toss of the head, the hazel eyes softening in recognition.

"Jack Teague...Sparrow, I mean?" There was a beat as he examined him with an odd look that was a mixture of pride and confusion. "What did you do to your hair?"

"The years, no doubt, have changed me, but we can explain on the way." They started to lead him back downstairs before he stopped.

"What are you doing here? After all these years?"

"It's a rescue!" Jack's hands shot up with extra flourish. "They tend not to work when one takes his time."

"Rescue?"

It was Teague's turn to stop short. Halfway down the staircase, he pulled on the sleeve of Jack's coat.

"The letter," he said. "He wasn't expecting you."

Jack stopped next, eyes downcast in thought, his bottom lip raking his top one.

"Exit now. Discussion of dubious details later."

"Not so fast!" All three men looked up to see Dalton at the top of the stairs, his massive arm locked around Anamaria's head, a pistol pressing into her cheek.

"Dalton, you can talk!" Jack blurted.

"Back up the stairs and this way, or her and every member of the crew gets the same."

"You've got it all wrong, mate," Jack said, strutting up the steps. "It's 'she and every member of the crew gets the same.' Threats have to be intelligible or they lose all meaning."

"Shut up! You're wanted upstairs most of all," Dalton said, crushing Anamaria's head further, her kicks at the air pitiful to watch.

"Now, now, let's not fight. We'll come quietly. I was just trying to keep you from sounding stupid in front of your boss. An educated man such as he..."

"How do you know..." Before Dalton could finish, a bolt flew through the open window right into his temple. His head jerked back before the rest of him did, crashing into a heap on the floor, almost taking Anamaria down with him. She wriggled free just in time to regain her balance.

"Guardian angel, indeed," Teague murmured to himself, feeling the sudden desire to form a Cross over his body.

"Was just about to get a name," Jack muttered, kneeling down and searching the pockets of the hulk. "Where's everyone else?" he asked her.

"I don't know. I was too busy trying to breathe," Anamaria snapped.

"You owe your King a drink," Teague said.

"I don't think that would be a good idea considering..." She tucked her lips into her mouth and looked away. "Nice job hiring a traitor, Captain."

"Perhaps we should move on," Remo said, ushering for all of them to continue out the building.

"How was I to know he'd jump at someone else's hook, eh?" Teague asked, two feet from the front door. "I didn't hear anyone raise any suspicions, either. "Why is that, I wonder?"

"Because your kind never plans ahead."

Rows of uniformed men, armed with long muskets and bayonets, paraded down the stairs, each one prepared to fire a shot. Centered, hands behind his back, a stately man took his time descending towards them, an ill-fitting wig hiding hair the red of a wild dog, highlighted with a touch of gray. His smug expression just barely hid a seething fury. At last face-to-face with them, Teague realized the reason behind the strange wig. The man only had one ear.

"Jack Sparrow. They say good things come to those who wait."

"Admiral, the bolt came from..." one of the plebes started.

"Next door. Take care of it." He turned back to them, to Jack. "Such a pleasure seeing you again."

"You must have the wrong man, mate..."

"What?" He snatched the dropped bedpost and made a motion to swing it across Jack's head. "You don't even remember me? I hunt you, look for you every time I come to a new port, and you don't even remember me? Not even this?" He craned his head, shoving the remains of his ear in Jack's face. "Singapore?"

"Alberich?" Teague could only describe Jack's expression as "oh bugger." "Henry Alberich! An admiral in the king's navy, no less! Fancy that!"

"Quiet! Bind his friends." The soldiers dragged Gibbs, Cotton, Pintel, and Ragetti down the stairs, their hands already tied.

"So, Jack," Alberich said. "Where's Cygnus?"

"You dare mention its name?" Remo bellowed, struggling to break free. "The Sword of the Swan has been in my family for generations and no one, especially some one-eared Englishman is going to take it from me!"

"Come, come, Jack. We don't have all day. I think I've been patient enough. You've no idea what a treat it was learning you had a connection to the very sword the Royal Navy has charged me with finding. It seems it is no longer in your tutor's possession, so naturally, a cunning thief like yourself must know its whereabouts."

"I do tend to lose things," Jack said, wracking his brain for a solution. If he lied, we're all hostages with nothing to bargain with, Teague thought, and if he tells the truth, we'll all just be killed.

"I see you have a woman with you," Alberich said, grinning in Anamaria's direction. "She's beautiful. I heard your mother was beautiful too, although I never had the pleasure of seeing her. Should we then just assume they're both screamers?" He snapped his fingers at two of the bigger men who began to approach Anamaria.

Just then, Titus burst through the door, sending splinters flying in every direction, Elizabeth close behind him. Teague grabbed the bedpost and swung it into Alberich's face. Bullets and bolts flew everywhere, the loud clanging of swords deafening. From the corner of his eye, Teague saw Elizabeth dive behind the counter, popping out seconds later, chucking bottles at any uniformed man who came her way. Finishing off his latest opponent, Teague scurried over to her.

"Get out of here! This is no place for you!" He hurled a bottle at another soldier.

"It seems it's the perfect place for me!" she argued back, hitting another over the head. She ducked down to where the old man still lied. "There's gold in his pockets!"

"Elizabeth, for God's sake, get out of here!" She stood up, stunned.

"Jack told you I was pregnant!"

"Told me what?" Their eyes widened at the same time. Elizabeth closed her hand over her mouth. "You're with child and you thought this would be a good idea! Out!"

"Excuse me, but I thought you knew!" She threw another bottle.

"No, I was trying to keep you safe!" he shouted at her, sliding over the counter to kick an oncoming soldier.

Jack, sword drawn and busy with yet another, maneuvered over to them.

"You knew she was with child?" Teague spat at him.

"Of course! A captain knows everything about his crew." He turned towards Elizabeth. "Where's your crossbow?"

"There aren't anymore bolts."

"Jackie, get her out of here and ready the ship!" Anamaria sprinted towards them. "Ready the ship!"

"Right then." Rather unceremoniously for Jackie, he scampered out the door.

"Are you all right?" Anamaria asked Elizabeth between parries.

"You knew too?" Teague sputtered.

"So much for secrecy," Elizabeth said with a shrug. Jack kicked the front door back open, his hands busy holding the reins of a horse.

"Go! I'll hold them off!" Teague ordered. Elizabeth nodded, abruptly ending her sprint at the door.

"I'll fall off," she said.

"Oy! You thought me incapable of finding one with this attached?" He directed her attention to the modest carriage behind the horse. Anamarira, Cotton, and Ragetti followed. They scampered to all ends of the carriage, a pistol out of every window. Jack took one last look at Teague.

"If you need any souvenirs, there are quite a number of shops along this street..."

"Blast it, Jackie! Go!"

With a grin, Jack struck the horse with the crop, the familiar clip-clop of the cities following.

Remo had the bedpost now, disarming a soldier and taking his sword from him.

"It will have to do," he said, sighing at it. Glancing around, Teague whistled to Titus, Pintel, and Gibbs.

"We make a run for it!" he shouted. Skirting around the unconscious owner's arm, he rolled his eyes, jumping over spilled ale still in a clear puddle. They skidded to the door, blind survival competing with visions flashing before Teague's eyes of his past, of Jack, of Oria. Panting, half for the run, half for the belief that this time, Death would reach down and pluck him right off the street, he gulped.

A hand did reach out, gripping him by the back of his coat. No sound came from his mouth even though it hung wide open.

"Almost taken out by the wheel there," Gibbs said, a modest shrug following. The carriage slowed, not stopped, prompting the rest to cling to it any way they could. His knuckles white, his grip so tight his arms shook, Teague held his breath until he saw the sight of two familiar ships looking at him from the harbor, as if nothing had happened at all.

* * *

><p>"The Royal Navy? The Royal Navy?" Teague paced in the galley of the <em>Pearl<em>, having ordered his ship to pull close enough for him to swing back over when he was good and ready for it. Remo sat with Gibbs and Elizabeth in the booth, Jack leaning against the wall. "I might have known."

"Lucky for me you did not," Remo said, still adapting to everyone's presence, especially Jack's, Teague noticed. Even a father such as himself could have told him the shock of seeing the evidence of time passing on your child's face. Jack set the letter down on the table in front of him.

"This is not your handiwork?"

"No, this is Alberich's handiwork," Remo sighed. "I'm at home, not doing anyone any harm, and then the next thing I know, soldiers come bursting in."

"They took you all the way to Canada?" Gibbs asked.

"I was already in Nova Scotia, after my wife's passing." Teague heard for the first time a hesitation, a reluctance to speak. Perhaps when they were alone, he could tell the other man he'd lost Oria, even call her his wife since she would have liked that, but the same Remo Benedetti that elicited such sympathy also elicited contempt, a seething pile of resentment, and Teague wasn't exactly sure why.

"They asked about you," he continued, facing Jack. "I had no idea where you were, anything you'd been up to, but they didn't believe me. If it wasn't torture for Cygnus, it was torture for you. Finally he copied that letter, found a boy to deliver it, and said you would be on your way."

"So you lost Cygnus," Jack concluded, quietly. Without ceremony, he pulled his compass from his pocket and threw it to him. "Open that up and we'll find it."

"Ah!" Remo held up a finger. "Can it truly be lost if I know where it is?" A hearty laugh escaped him. "It will not be long before Alberich's ships are on our trail. We must go further north."

"Why?" Elizabeth asked.

"Because, _bellezza_, the Sword of the Swan is protected by ice."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Fun action sequence for everyone, hopefully. Unfortunately, real life is taking a bit of a toll on me, so there may not be an update next week. Rest assured, if there is not an update next week, there will be the week after. Hope everyone is enjoying it so far and things are going to get heavier in more ways than one soon.**


	14. Remo

_Remo's Tale_

_ We had no children, Ernesta and I. So we would claim the world, leave no corner unexplored, the sun and the stars the only limits. We made it as far as Paris._

_ We'd decided long ago the Sword would never let us have a moment's peace, and with no heirs to pass it to, we searched and searched for a safe place, some uncharted nook of the world where we could hide it, hide it from men such as Henry Alberich. That is when we learned of the Wendigo. _

_ Long, spindly giants covered in white fur, there are stories of hunters seeing them from a distance, only to find out too late they aren't a bear. They have a long dark blue tongue and their fangs and claws are always stained with blood. They seemed all-powerful at first- strong, swift, and with an intelligence—but then we learned, ah! They are only functionally immortal. Fire, of course, keeps them at bay, but that won't do much to stop their shrieking howls. Silver is what destroys them. So does a blow to the head, but one never wants to be so close. Silver and Cygnus. _

_ God rest Ernesta. She wanted to go even after hearing all the dangers, especially the Wendigo Fever. It is a curse of the most horrid kind, brought on by encountering them during a fever, or, God forbid, eating one's own kind. Nauseating odors and nightmares follow the accursed, but the awakening...the awakening. Your limbs feel filled with fire, so much so they carry you into the wilderness, as you lose your mind and your clothes at the same time. The victims never return. _

_ I told Ernesta she could not go, forbade her to go. It was no place for a bed-ridden woman in Paris with a fever. But she, ah, she forbade me to go alone. I said I would wait until her fever broke and we would hide Cygnus among the Wendigo together. It never did._

_ We were married fifty-two years and it still was not enough time. So I went on alone, slaying a small one with Cygnus. I put on its skin and prowled the North in my massive disguise, ready to collapse from the burden at any second. Their cries...mercy, their cries. They echoed in my dreams for so long I felt for sure the Fever was upon me. I came to a wall of ice, thicker and colder than anything I'd happened upon before. This was the place, I decided. I was through. I lodged it into the block of ice and tested it. It would not budge, and so I left the wilderness, making my way south until I could find passage back to Italy. My brothers and their children, they think this is a time for soul-searching and mourning. That is only the beginning._

_ I found a room at the inn where you found me, intending to only stay one night and then go aboard a ship. Alone. It was that empty feeling one's adventures are over. Your friend Alberich took care of that._

_ I went down the stairs to drown my sorrows, I'm sorry to say, when I found what must have been almost a full regiment with rifles pointed right at me. Hands go up in the air, I demand to see who is in charge, and there he is, demanding to know where you are. It's been how many years, Jack? Twenty-two? I remember you, of course, but I spoke the truth. I hadn't seen you since you were a child just on the brim of becoming a man and that you and your mother ended your service with me so you could go to Singapore._

_ "Where is the Sword?" he kept asking._

_ "What sword?"_

_ "The Sword of the Swan. Cygnus!" Every time he befouled the name of it with his mouth he slapped me. "Your former student is a notorious pirate and known thief. And you, sir, are a braggart and so must have told him you were too special for just any sword." I asked if it was bragging if it was true. That is how I got this little scar on the back of my neck. He had a piece of paper, as wrinkled as the spot where his ear had been, and showed me a drawing. _

_ "It is a work of art," I told him. That slap left no scar. _

_ "Do you know where a place called Shipwreck Cove is?" I did not. The Benedettis do not associate with pirates or ships that wreck...no offense. He said you would be there sooner or later and I had no choice but to wait you out. Weeks of being spooned thin, watery soup, long sessions of slapping and punching, just asking where the Sword could be found. But, Jack, you would be proud of me. I held out. I told them bandits had taken Cygnus away from me years ago and it was taking the better part of my life searching for it. It was perfection, my plan, no? At least it was. I don't know how I can go back to the lands of the Wendigo. I don't know how I can stand it._

* * *

><p>"Hold on now, mate," Jack said, holding up a hand. "Why go back at all?"<p>

"What do you mean?"

"I mean why suffer when one doesn't have to? They don't know where Cygnus is. I, up until now, didn't know, so what say you to us dropping you off in Italy and having ourselves a _festival realmente grande _since I'm sure we can find something worth celebrating, savvy?"

"Oh, Jack. If only it were that simple." Remo took in this grown version of his student, the keen mind and ravenous eyes still very much intact, although there was more facade now. "Your Royal Navy knows of the Wendigo. They consider it their duty to destroy them."

"That don't sound too bad," the older one, Gibbs, he thought that was the right name, said. "Sound like real pieces of work the way you described them."

"That they are, and they will massacre every man that sets foot on their lands. This we must stop."

"Must stop?" a voice scoffed. Remo licked his lips in thought. Treach? Teague. That was it. Jack's father. For amusement, and then sincere bafflement, he'd recalled Oria Pettirosso and tried to picture her next to a younger version of this man. She'd had a harsh, haggard look about her, too, but only when she was being harsh. Too soon gone were the women who loved to laugh, whose hearts shown openly when in the presence of their children. He saw the family resemblance too easily; a less observant mind with a worse memory might have said Jack was the spitting image of his father, but it was a blend. There was just enough of his mother...

He'd realized he hadn't listened to a word the man had just said.

"What?" he asked, making sure to snap it out, as if in shock.

"The Royal Navy spends its time hunting us," Teague said, rolling his eyes at having to repeat himself. "Rabbits don't wave signs around for the wolves to see."

"There may be some good men among them," Elizabeth said.

"Then they can die heroes. The _Golden Queen_'s journey ends here." With much presence, he left the galley, Jack following him out.

Remo sat, shifting from Elizabeth to Gibbs, wondering if he'd always known how full of strangers the world is. They smiled, shifting awkwardly themselves, though, and that was more than Admiral Alberich had ever done.

"I'm sure the _Black Pearl _will help you," Elizabeth said. "And the _Golden Queen. _Captain Teague must know that if even one person so much as survives, there's a chance he'll find Cygnus."

"And that must never happen, _bellezza_!" he shouted, pressing his fingertips into the table. "I'll be dead before I see it!"

"How is it the Navy knows about these Wendigo anyway?" Gibbs asked.

"It is my fault, my fault." He shook his head. None of them were meant to know his folly. He took his log out of his coat pocket and flipped through the yellowed, starchy pages. "They ransacked their way through my log, violated it. There was nothing in it Alberich didn't already know, but this."

Watching their eyes widen at the drawing would have made Remo smirk and offer to tell his story again, but the bleak knowledge of having to return to the cold, to all the blood, to that heavy carcass crushing him with every step left no room for even a smile. Their eyes explored the red, beady ones on the page, a wolfish head with quill-like teeth jutting out of the body of an enormous ape, the rippling muscles almost on the outside rather than the inside. For Remo, the lingering horror had come from the hands, thick and humanoid, four fingers and a thumb with knuckles, joints, even palm lines. They were a frostbite blue with dagger-like claws at the ends, but it was enough to keep Remo from forcing himself to believe they were just another dumb animal.

Sighing, Remo folded the drawing back up and stood so straight his back tensed. There had been a few students after Jack, but he'd been the first, the expensive, lustrous schools deciding he was too rapidly approaching the end of his usefulness. Students seemed to go in and out faster each year and yet he could always remember a face, a name, some amusing story, but Jack had been his first student as a tutor, and the first student, as far as he knew, to turn pirate.

Eager to hear that long story prompted enthusiastic steps out the galley onto the main deck of the magnificent ship. Surely it meant Jack was successful, for a pirate anyway. He froze at the sight of Jack and his father farther ahead.

"So ye plan to stick it out?" Teague huffed, his stance stern and rather rooster-like, Remo thought. "Nothin' in it for you, ye know."

Jack remained silent, his gaze narrowed, his hand angled as if to gesture.

"You still manage to surprise me, Jackie-boy. You must owe this tutor a great deal."

"Making two square is something you find objectionable?"

"It's something I find suspicious on your part. It must have put your mother at ease knowing you had a father of a kind around," he said, stroking his chin.

"Ah, so that's it, is it? Eh? Jealous?" Jack's posture remained the same, even though it swayed just a little now and then. In fact, Remo thought, it reminded him so much of their sparring sessions, the way he stood now, shoulders back and head forward, like a predator about to strike.

"Don't tell me you want to save a whole regiment of marines for morality's sake," Teague said. "Go on. Admit he was like a father to you. You seem to have hard enough a time telling people how you feel. Start with your old man. Say how you'd run through broken glass for him if you knew it'd put his fears at bay."

Remo cringed, waiting for the clash of swords. Instead, Jack drew his pistol, the barrel pointed straight at Teague's head.

"You said the _Golden Queen_'s journey ends here," he said coolly. "The _Pearl _goes on and you can do as you like. Per the usual. Captain."

As he made his way to the captain's cabin, Remo and Teague locked eyes for only a moment, each one waiting for a caustic remark, or worse, a new pistol forging its way into the fray. They marched off in separate directions.

* * *

><p><em>"Footwork, Jack, footwork!" He blocked another mindless chop from Cygnus with a wooden sword. A few chips fell to the floor. "You are too out of breath, and no one wants to dance with one who is sloppy!"<em>

_ Holding the blade out in front of him, straight arm, Jack inhaled, beads of sweat dripping from his hair onto his temples. It would not be long before a careless tilt of the head would make it sting his eyes. Remo took advantage of the moment to charge. Strolling towards him, he twisted his blade onto that of Cygnus. Guttural sounds of struggling responded._

_ "This is not a competition of strength!" Remo reminded him. "This is a dance. And it ends when the one who has taken the lead meets the body of the other. You are not calm. Has a dancer ever been any good when he is not calm?"_

_ "We're leaving Italy," he panted, sticking Cygnus into the floor, his hands cupping the swan head. "We're going to work for the Royal Navy in Singapore."_

_ "Ah! Then it is all the more imperative you dance calmly." His mother had already notified him, and it had stung, a year and a half gone in the blink of an eye. Jack picked up the sword and swung it at him. "Have you forgotten everything you've learned? You are still angry!"_

_ "Did you not hear me say why?" He swung at him again._

_ "They say the men of Singapore have been dancing many years," Remo said. "Their new ways will anger you. The new surroundings will anger you. The gorgeous women whom you can't understand..." He grinned, but no laughter answered him. "An angry dancer is a sloppy dancer, Jack. __Dances do not happen when all is well. They happen when there is...trouble!" He swung. Jack blocked. "Conflict!" He blocked again, his stance improving. "When what has been smoldering beneath the cinders cannot stay hidden any longer. That is when you must dance, and if you are angry..." The parry lasted longer, a volley of offense and defense until Remo had the wooden sword against Jack's throat. "Then I am the better dancer." At last a smile. "We will say our farewells later. For now, control your fire. Use it." A more expert, sophisticated parry followed. Remo smiled as he practiced steady, controlled breaths. When was has been smoldering beneath the cinders cannot stay hidden any longer._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Keep that last scene in mind for the next chapter!**


	15. Elizabeth III

Elizabeth found herself wedged between two worlds that, so far, seemed to have no connection except for her. Manning the _Pearl _took up most of her day, as it did everyone's. When she had a moment alone, she practiced her crossbow. Her sword had not yet begun to feel heavy, so she practiced it, too, often urging Pintel or Ragetti or Gibbs to spar with her. Work, sweat, and a task at hand. This was the world she'd immersed herself in, the one she'd willingly plunged into on the way to World's End. Perhaps before that, even.

The other world equaled uncharted territory, although not uninviting. Aside from the occasional retching off the side of the ship, pregnancy left Elizabeth expecting her baby with greater anticipation every day. Names, male and female, ran races in her head. Thoughts of eye colors, toys, lullabies, fantastic fairy tales and adventure stories, and bright, boundless futures danced about at every turn.

She still did not show through her clothes. That would surely change, though, she knew, and then she would have to announce it to everyone, or at least answer impertinent questions. There was still no response from Will.

And worst of all, I lie here of all places, Elizabeth thought, staring up at the ceiling from the bed in the Captain's cabin. It hadn't been the first time. The first time Jack offered it to her had been when she'd found him in Tortuga, on their way to wherever the Dead Man's Chest lay hidden away. Scoundrel even backtracked and insisted he share the bed with her "so as to avoid fraternization with the crew." She laughed to herself, not at all missing the hammock.

It wasn't the same now. They slept at different shifts, and it was just as well, Elizabeth thought. Something in her was still smoldering since the day she'd seen him from her room at the Cove. It hadn't been the first time she'd been stuck in a quandary about Jack, either. Long nights the year between her rescue and her aborted wedding as well as sleepless nights on the way to Singapore asked the same question. The pattern always remained the same: did she love him, how could she love him, an extensive list of the consequences that would go along with loving him, did he love her, an extensive list of the consequences of losing herself and becoming just another notch on the bedpost, and never did any of these questions receive a proper answer.

Making sure the bedpost did not literally sport countless notches, her eyes drifted to the timepiece. Ragetti at the helm, Jack up and doing God-knew-what, and she was supposed to be sleeping.

Springing out of the bed, she slipped into her boots, laced them, grabbed her sword, and headed out onto the deck. The moonlight gave everything a faint glow, making her feel that any corner of the _Pearl _could come alive, if the _Pearl _hadn't already had life breathed into her by some mystic phenomenon. Soft gusts of cold made stepping outstide feel like entering another realm, one of dreams and symbols. The _Golden Queen_, as she'd expected, stayed close by.

"Poppet?"

"Good evening," she said, hands in her pockets, sword attached to her. "I'll take it from here."

"Ya want to switch?"

"Yes. I like being about at night," she said. "You're at the helm at the hottest part of the day." She bit her lip at the cool breeze wafting about, weakening the effect of her words. "Wouldn't it be better if you had a chance to rest before you went out on the night shift?"

Pintel considered her words, his fingers stroking his scraggly whiskers. Bare-chested save for his bandolier, Elizabeth scanned the deck in search of his shirt. Urine-or-rum-soaked beat nothing at all. He held the philosophical pose much longer than she'd expected, perhaps dabbling in intellectualism like his friend.

"Have you seen my shirt?" he asked. Too much to hope for, Elizabeth decided.

"Why don't you look below decks while you retire?" she prompted.

"There's a thought! Thanks, Poppet." He slapped her back on his way, sending her staggering forward to catch herself. Maybe she should announce her condition to the rest earlier than expected... Strolling along the deck, Elizabeth lengthened her stride, slowing, trying to glide soundlessly to match the night. Still waters gave the silence extra authority, warning anyone tempted to speak or make a sound to make sure it was worth the effort. Coming up on the stern behind the capstan and helm, she saw Jack, sitting atop a stack of crates with his back resting against the shrouds. Inhaling, she squared her shoulders and approached him. Tonight she would learn a few things about herself and answer her own questions.

Not about to assume she'd sneaked up on him unawares, she drew her sword and pointed it down on the space in front of her.

"Spar with me?"

"You're with child," he said, flexing his hand and looking at her with that steady, mathematician gaze.

"Which is why only now are we evenly matched," she joked, twirling the blade. A match. She stuffed her tongue between her teeth inside her mouth, the discomfort distracting her from the rapid pounding of her heart. His face, with the exception of amused eyes, looked almost catty. Without a sound, he slid down from his perch right in front of her. She lifted her sword as he drew his, only to watch him attach a scrap block of wood to the tip of it. "What's that?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow, baby slayer, doesn't quite roll off the tongue," he said, raising his sword and meeting hers with a clang. Eyes locked as hard as swords, they parried. Elizabeth drove him back at first, half-knowing he was toying with her. A grin broke out on his face just when his back foot hit the edge of the ship.

There was no time to think, her arm unable to do anything but block. It was a curt, vigorous style, not one she was accustomed to, but easy for someone agile to adapt to and adjust. There was no embellishment, no spins or tricks she'd spent a year learning to counter. So she threw some in- holding out her free arm and meeting the curve of his elbow, turning it just enough to throw off where he guided his sword. Jack answered with a sharp turn, the edge of his sword almost meeting her torso. Deadlocked, she watched his eyes darken, realizing she hadn't looked away from them. Heaving, he spun out, turned, and charged again.

She tried to control her breathing while being driven backward at the same time. Backwards doesn't mean defeat, she reminded herself, blocking a slowed thrust inches from her face. Jack's eyes were scanning her, reading her, and hers were doing the same. It seemed just as she had caught her breath that it grew ragged and shallow again, feeling at once the weight of her sword. No, she told herself, scraping his blade with hers. No, you have to earn me.

A gravely roar emitted from her, wild streaks of hair falling into her face. Each clang felt louder, the air around her humming a dizzying melody. She anchored herself with his eyes, instinct beginning to eclipse strategy.

Elizabeth could feel Jack's grip on his sword loosening and then tightening, and somehow she knew the same feral instincts were overtaking him as well. No coat, no hat...only black eyes and the moon somehow made it inevitable.

They stopped, shoulders heaving as if they'd sprinted laps around the deck. They charged at the same time, a deafening clang again the only sound. The harsh sound of scraping followed as they once more broke apart, backtracking only enough to start again. They stopped, lips a hair apart, still holding the other one's gaze. Her chin tilted upward. Swords thudded to the deck. Inevitable.

Warmth filled her as their lips met, the whole world humming and spinning as she latched onto him, moaning at the touch of his hands cupping her jawbone. His fingertips dropped to her collarbone, her body tingling to the point of quivering when he started leaving a trail of kisses on her throat. It was a frenzied, agonizing rush to the cabin door. Air was no longer air, but his skin. They parted only to close and lock the door behind them. Hurling herself back to him, she moaned at his hand reaching for her shirt.

Layers peeled away, she fell back onto the bed, and arched her back, hearing "Lizzie, my love" brushed against her hairline, her lips, the most sensitive spots on her ear. Their fingers interlocked, lips already swelling, a brief moment of clarity found its way through the thrumming surroundings.

"I love you," she gasped, answered with eyes and a face that looked like a tremendous burden had been lifted, something bursting out from a cage. She memorized every change in texture when her fingers passed along a scar, every scratchy grind and brush along her face, and all the binding, aching, and entwining sweetly culminating into passionate soaring.

* * *

><p>Hours later, Elizabeth woke, the feeling of Jack's arm around her waist the only evidence it hadn't been a dream. It had been over soon after it had begun, the utter excess of joy draining her until she'd felt too heavy to move. The first rays of sunlight crept along the rim of the portholes, the occasional rush of a wave the only sound.<p>

Bare legs tangled in the sheets, she blushed and tried to work through them, shivering at the touch of fingertips along the small of her back. She rolled over to find Jack with one eye submerged in the pillow and a tired smile directed at her. It almost didn't match the caressing...the fondling she felt him doing under the sheets. She leaned into him and closed her eyes...

"Captain!" she heard Gibbs cry from the other side of the door.

With a sharp exhale and a silent groan, Jack kissed her on the forehead, dressed with the speed of a cobra, and went outside.

* * *

><p>The day dragged, reminding Elizabeth of vague references in the Bible to the sun refusing to set until a battle ended. So it was now, her chores and duties on the <em>Pearl <em>demanding everything else be inconsequential. Her imagination entertained the idea of the ship being jealous to the point of cold envy, but sifting powder, inspecting guns for rust, and placing oakum between the seems of the planks forced novelty of any kind out of her head.

Jack busied himself as usual, passing by her now and then to give an order or make a suggestion, not dismissively, she noted with relief, but with enough of the same tone he used with the others to spawn some doubt. No, she thought. He'd said "my love." "My." Her hand crept up onto her abdomen where her bump would soon be, closing her eyes and counting, speaking hushed words of comfort to her baby and to herself. Maybe soon she would feel it kick, feel it move around in her. Sighing, she cast away the doubt and anxiety and went about her work. It was the exact same schedule he had adhered to before...before. The _Golden Queen _stayed close by, making Elizabeth ponder swinging aboard to find Anamaria. Oh yes, highly inconspicuous, she snorted to herself.

"Watch yourself, Elizabeth," Gibbs warned, stumbling by with an armful of charts, squeaking by her.

Pintel and Ragetti sang "The Deceived Girl"'s crass lyrics as they bustled about their duties, humming if the task required extra concentration.

She was this close to pleading with a higher power for a battle.

* * *

><p>The <em>Black Pearl <em>and her crew witnessed dusk without event and night fell upon them the same way. The air started to nip with more force, so she bunched her coat up around her neck. Personal, nagging worries gave way to general curiosity about a place that really stayed so cold all year round. Elizabeth hated being cold, hated anything that made her think of cold- a biting glare, stiff, pointless formalities...doubt...

She realized she'd been frozen at the foot of the steps when Jack came down, a bit more spring in his gait, she noticed, realizing at the last second she'd flashed him a smile.

The next thing she knew, she was in his arms, one of his hands holding the back of her head, the other wrapping around her waist, deliberate, tortuous kisses raining down on her.

"I've been waiting all day to do that," he said, with a tilt of his head, a sly-but-sincere smile on his face. He crashed upon her again, and it seemed a reflex for her hands to reach around to his back and crane her neck to him. A dark corner, near the cabin door, on an already dark night, she felt the cold wood of the ship hit her back and a growing, bulging heat press against her front. At last he reached her lips, still feeling swollen from before. She shivered when he broke away.

"I can do better," he said, so full of determination.

"What?"

"Last night, albeit...life-altering," Jack said, his arm bracing the bulkhead as he caught his breath. "Left much to be desired in the way of...demonstrating..." He was searching for words, she realized, pressing her lips together to hide her amusement. His fingers flew into her hair as his brow knitted. "I can do better."

"Do you think I'd take it all back?" she asked, eyebrows lifting, hands clasping around the back of his neck. "That, that I wouldn't love..." she whispered, blushing.

"No. That you would think I didn't love you, with all my soul," he said after a beat, and how Elizabeth struggled to keep from swooning. There was no time to reassure for he was once again kissing her, guiding her back into the cabin until she felt the soft, blanketed edge of the bed in addition to his lips, of each button one by one on her shirt being undone. She whipped her eyes open just long enough to indulge in the sight of him without his shirt before closing them again, the whirr of the moment too overwhelming. Jack straightened her arm and held it down, his other hand pressing on her thigh, but if it was to keep her there, it was excessive, she thought. Her moans were enough to keep her there for more.

Her skin prickled, shivering at his lips against her chest. A burning whim to speak tempted her, but she held out, immersing in the warm body on top of her, a scent that was becoming second nature, and the sound of his own breathing dancing in time with her own.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Before you get on me...or Elizabeth...for grabbing an opponent's arm, Will does a similar move on Jack in their sword fight in COTBP and since Will was her instructor, I figured they would have similar styles and strategies. Plus Jack isn't much of a stickler when it comes to cheating, as also revealed in that scene.**

**I hope you all appreciate that I had to come up with a fictional character's ovulation dates, conception date, and then do all the math to figure out how far along she is at this point in the story! The things I do for you... Lol.**

**"The Deceived Girl" was a song written sometime around the 17th century about a girl who helped a married Scotsman escape jail, only for him to call her a whore and ditch her...sort of an anti-Scotland song considering...**

**I know not everything on Wikipedia can be believed, but has anyone else heard this: "Little is known about the background of either Pintel or Ragetti. Lee Arenberg and Mackenzie Crook had decided that Pintel is Ragetti's uncle and Ragetti is the son of a prostitute, although this has not been confirmed in the movies...According to _Pirates of the Caribbean: The Visual Guide_, prior to serving as cannoneers aboard the _Black Pearl_, Ragetti and Pintel spent a year as naval sailors, press-ganged into service for the British Royal Navy before deserting to escape the bad food and abusive treatment." Cuz our two stooges being related in such a way would ruin their dynamic, if you ask me...Disney didn't.**


	16. Gibbs IV

Ice. The trees were few and far between, Gibbs thought from the helm, the blackness of the water chilling him. Although, he shrugged, to be fair, it wasn't as foreboding as the trip to World's End. This was more rustic, friendlier, making it easy for him to believe lives lived up here. The kind of lives that Remo mentioned and in the drawing? Aye, the landscape made it easier to believe that, too. It reminded him a little of the stories he and his brother and his sisters shared in the winters, stories about trolls in the mountains, the Huldra in the forests, and the Nøkken in the water, playing a fiddle-sort of instrument that lured its prey out onto thin ice, and then down to the depths. It was coming up on time for Remo Benedetti to take the lead in this venture, and Gibbs was heavily weighing the pros and cons of continuing.

"Coming up on some shallows," he said to Jack, sensing him coming up to relieve him. A backward glance saw the captain shiver at their surroundings and bundle up in his coat.

"Desolate, ominous shallows, you mean."

"Aye, that's what I mean." Gibbs cleared his throat. "You're sure about this?"

"Ethical answer: lives of those who have not yet harmed us, and I do stress 'yet,' are at risk. Personal answer: I'd have been long dead, or at least woefully ignorant, without Remo, and pirate answer: Alberich will not proverbially get off my back unless I personally see to it," he sighed. Gibbs sighed, too. Might have been a great deal easier if he'd said all that to Captain Teague, but that was far from a first mate's place to say.

"Then we'd best get to the desolate, ominous shadows." Steering the _Pearl _closer to the madness, Gibbs opened the small door beneath the helm, hidden from Naval eyes, and pulled out the two extra pistols. Knees bent, he groped around the little cranny until he found the boxes he'd wanted.

"Silver bullets here."

"You know, it is about time we made use of these," Jack said, flashing him a grin.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were happy about all this."

"But you do know better, don't you?" he asked. "Off I went, off to go and do a sensible thing like return a favor and here we are breaking out the silver bullets. None of that sounds too favorable to me. What say you?"

And yet his grin remained, Gibbs noticed from the corner of his eye. Perfect time to go away inside...or... He cleared his throat again.

"And what be the plan after this favor is returned?" he coughed, cursing himself at how it sounded. Jack looked up with straightened eyebrows.

"Meaning what?"

"Once this is all over."

"Secure Anamaria a vessel...going along with that proverbial 'get off my back' theme, see to it Teague is back at the Cove where he belongs and then the world is our oyster."

"Tortuga, fine rum, and women, eh?"

Jack gave him a sedated smile, somehow confident and sentimental at once. Gibbs shrugged and licked his lips, the image of a roaring fire in a crowded tavern, laughter and music replacing the whistling wind, warmed one's blood. The smack of cards being shuffled, smoke and spirits circling above everyone—oh yes, warmed one's blood indeed. The sound of Elizabeth's footsteps coming up to them broke his make-believe. Bundled up in her coat, she tucked her hands into the pits of her arms and frowned at their surroundings.

"Get used to it, lass," he said. "Been like this for miles." Just the words made her shiver.

"How much farther do we need to go?" she asked, leaning against the rail next to the helm, the wheel all that now stood between her and Jack. Perhaps he should leave them alone...

"What's that?" he heard her ask. He spun around to find the sleeve of Jack's coat pushed up, the captain lost in some memory by two nasty-looking marks higher up on his arm than his brand.

"Eel bite, courtesy of Alberich," Jack said.

"You don't win people over very easily, do you?" Elizabeth laughed, the horror vanishing with a soft chuckle and her fingers scrutinizing them. Chuckling silently, Jack nodded.

"Pisspot always had to have the last word," he sighed. "Threw me into a baking rack, so I tampered with his soup. Next thing I know, eel pops out of a delivery and starts a saga of artwork that is this arm."

Gibbs hadn't heard that one before, but it seemed all too right Alberich would carry a grudge like that. Shaking his head, he started for the deck when he gave them a last look. They'd go well together, he just knew it, and, well, standing so close together, the opportunity presented itself. Bustling back to the helm, his tongue fumbled for words.

"Did I forget my..." he trailed off, unable to think of anything as his flask was still clipped to his belt. Elbows jutted out, he nudged Elizabeth right into Jack, trying not to stammer at her surprised look and his blank one.

"Oh, er, sorry there! Usually got sea legs...best be gettin' down to the crew. Brace the foreyard!" he called down to Pintel and Ragetti.

"We're coming up on land," Jack said.

"Right, er, belay that! Prepare a longboat!" Cursing himself and gritting his teeth, Gibbs stomped down the steps onto the deck. Perhaps he could blame the cold air for giving him an addled brain, he thought, preparing muskets for the journey. Remo appeared before him, statuesque and confident and awaiting orders.

"We'll need skins before we can venture out there," he said, pacing.

"That'll be on you then," Gibbs said, watching the man act the part of a caged animal. Out on the horizon, on layer upon layer of gray and white, large silhouettes walked this way and that. Even from the distance Gibbs could tell they would tower over anyone on the ship.

"That them?"

"The Wendigo—yes. Sometimes they travel in small packs like that. If you had something that would put them in range, their skins would do."

Duty calls, Gibbs thought, glancing up at the helm where Elizabeth still was.

* * *

><p>"You must take out each one with one shot," Remo instructed her, standing over her as she knelt near the <em>Pearl<em>'s rail, her crossbow aimed out towards the unsuspecting pack. She lined up her shot.

"Do they swim?" she asked.

"I hope not."

Gibbs noticed her gulp and then glance down where she petted her abdomen. With a resolved expression, she narrowed her gaze and fired. The crew gathered around at the deafening roar, the shaggy silhouettes zigzagging all over the place, forming a chaotic circle around their fallen member. Elizabeth prepared a second bolt and fired again, hitting one in the shoulder.

"Again! Hurry!" Remo hissed.

Dexterous fingers prepared a bolt and adjusted. She inhaled. The dazed Wendigo slumped to the ground.

"Cor!" Pintel murmured.

"Again. We must have more," Remo commanded. "If you leave any alive they'll hunt us."

Elizabeth fired three bolts in quick succession, leaving nothing out there wandering. They must not be used to human weapons, Gibbs concluded, the way they panicked. The way they kept running back to their dead almost spurred some pity, but he ignored it, remembering the picture Remo had shown them earlier.

"Excellent," Remo said, extending his hand for her to take. Ever the gentleman, he pulled her to her feet before addressing them. "Now the truly dirty work begins. We must skin them and get to Cygnus before..."

A flare shot up into the air, its loud whistle erupting into fading crackles. Jack bolted up the steps to his spyglass. The _Golden Queen _was lowering her anchor.

"Bloody fools," he muttered, running to the poop deck, the bowsprit of the _Golden Queen_ so close he could stretch out, grab it, and shimmy his way aboard. For a moment, Gibbs thought he would.

"Oy!" Jack called. "Call attention to the world we're here or ram your ship into mine, one or the other!"

"Pardon me." Teague emerged from the sails, a boot on the bow. "Thought you might be interested to know we gave a few ships with royal colors the slip just now. A party needs to go keep them at bay." With an eagle's precision, his eyes found Remo. "How far do we need to go?"

"It isn't far from here, a mile or two inland."

"Heh, a mile could take a lifetime in this weather, wearing those." He cocked his head towards the carcasses waiting for them. "Jackie, who's doing what? We don't have all day."

"I'll lead the group to keep the Navy away," Anamaria said, coming up behind Teague.

"You're sure about that? How many'll you need?"

"Not many. We have the element of surprise working for us. Mr. Cotton? Gibbs?" She opened her hands towards them, eyebrows raised in invitation.

"Settled," Teague said, leaping onto the bow and walking across like a panther until he was on the deck of the _Pearl. _"I'll be coming with you. Jackie, a word?"

"No, this is a deck," Jack said, tapping the deck with his boot. "The nearest words can be found in the cabin."

"Take a longboat with Remo...and Titus. You'll need some muscle." He snapped his fingers and the giant followed. "The rest of us will make up the next trip. Titus, hold back a minute." There was a pause, nothing more than a beat, Jack squinting and pursing his lips in suspicion, Gibbs reaching for the butt of his pistol, when Teague snapped his fingers again and drew his own pistol. Titus reached forward, lifting Elizabeth off the ground.

"What?" she cried.

"What are you doing?" Jack roared, hoarse with pistol drawn. Teague turned and pointed his own at him.

"Just keeping the expectant where they belong is all, Jackie-boy," Teague said. Each of them took a step, closing the gap between them. "She served a purpose and now has no need to feel guilty for going no further. Titus."

Swinging the cabin door open, Titus tossed her in and turned the lock.

"How'd you get my key?" Jack asked, confused, but the pistol unwavering.

"Never know when you might need a key, eh?" Teague laughed before settling into a grin. "Now, now, boy. Post her little henchmen as sentries..."

"Her knights," Jack said.

"You place one here." He gestured to Ragetti with the pistol to stand at the left of the door. Swallowing, Ragetti galloped to it. "And another here." Pintel followed suit once the barrel of the pistol met his eyes. "Simple. Yes?"

"Teague, you let me out of here!" Elizabeth shrieked from the other side of the door.

"Nothing personal, but you'll thank me later!" he yelled back to her. "Shall we?" He strolled over to the awaiting longboat.

"Jack!" Gibbs shouted, running over to him. "What's all this? I bet we have a skeleton key around here somewhere."

Jack didn't answer, staring at the door so intently Gibbs imagined him able to burn a hole through it.

"Teague? Teague!" Rapid knocking turned into banging.

"Gone, love."

"Jack! Get me out of here! Jack?" She pounded further on the door. "Jack?"

"Should have tossed you in there myself...be back soon..." He spun back around. "Don't touch my charts!" He ignored the pounding and turned towards Pintel and then Ragetti. Opening his mouth to speak, he clamped it shut and continued toward the longboat.

Anamaria sprang forward.

"Elizabeth? Are you all right?"

"Anamaria, is Jack really gone?"

"It really will be for the best, Elizabeth. You just make Captain Teague owe you for getting him a Wendigo skin. I bet that doesn't come cheap. Gibbs? Cotton? Let's go."

"When do we sail? When do we sail?" the parrot squawked.

* * *

><p>The longboat drifted out to a frigate, one with ornate gold and navy blue checks beneath the rail. An eyesore in all this white and gray, Gibbs thought, recalling his own days in the Royal Navy. Back-breaking work with too little recognition, just another cur in a stupid hat. Nameless save for hushed discussion with feigned concern about the "one who is a little too fond of the drink." Strangely enough, he drank considerably less since he'd started living on the <em>Pearl <em>than back then. "Where's the one who is a little too fond of the drink?" he'd hear. "Off spinning another yarn," someone else would be sure to say with an eyeroll even though he'd been a member of Gibbs' audiences.

_Vile and dissolute creatures, the lot of them. I intend to see to it that any man who sails under a pirate flag or wears a pirate brand gets what he deserves—a short drop and a sudden stop._

_Actually, I find it all fascinating._

Gibbs chuckled at the memory. He'd found it all fascinating, too...and now here he was. Cotton went first, climbing up the hull, his bony hands strong and nimble even at his age.

"Quiet now," Anamaria reminded them. "Surprise is about the only advantage we have."

Knife blade in his mouth, Gibbs growled acknowledgment. Pushing aside the horrifying thought of his pistol falling out of his holster, he brought up the rear. Clangs and shuffling and all the sounds of bafflement echoed above him. Throwing a leg over the rail, he plopped onto the hard deck, his arm bearing the brunt of the fall. Scrambling to his feet, he pointed his pistol at a small, piddling crew of young men that looked barely twenty. Maybe sparing them the fate of the Wendigo had been the best thing to do, he thought.

"Swords and pistols on the deck. Now!" Anamaria hissed at them. She waited until they obeyed. "Good. We are in command now. You there. Helm. There's somewhere we need to be."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Don't worry. I'm sure Elizabeth will find a way to be part of the action soon. The stories Gibbs is remembering at the beginning are Norse ones, kind of a dark history of folklore there. I'm actually working on chapter 16 now, so hopefully updates will still be more or less weekly. It's just real life demanding a lot of my time right now. I don't own POTC but appreciate reviews! **


	17. Jack IV

The skin smelled, smelled of...Jack inhaled again out of morbid curiosity...feces, wet fur, saliva, and, most importantly, blood. The weight of the limp fur and hide caused his back to ache and his arms to tremble if he used them to adjust. They moved along in a single-file line, to hide their numbers, Remo had said, Titus in front of him and Teague behind him.

His lip twitched at a single long hair tickling the corner of his mouth. And just where all have you been before you decided to come along and contaminate me, he wanted to ask it, his eyes bulging at the number of afflictions that might overcome him. Mercifully, the fever Remo had mentioned would not be one of them.

He let his feet fall into a cadenced pattern, allowing him to go back, go back and revisit a recent memory, one made only slightly awkward by Gibbs bumping Lizzie into him on his way down the steps.

* * *

><p><em>She'd taken her time getting off of him, he'd noticed. Not giving her an opportunity to go make herself useful elsewhere, he pulled her to him, between himself and the helm, and steered with his arms around her.<em>

_ "This seems a bit dangerous," she said, despite letting her head fall back and rest against his. He smiled and twisted just enough to be able to kiss her, but he refrained. Instead, he took her hands and led them up to the helm. Lifting his up to make room for hers, he savored the sensation of cold wood and warm hands encased in his. "Jack, this is..."_

_ "It's right where I want you," he interrupted, swallowing. Now, mate. Moments of perfection are rarer than shooting stars. "Will you marry me?" _

_ The squirm was...ambiguous, he thought with a pout, waiting for her to turn and look at him. Seeing only a fraction of the sea past the top of her head, he couldn't look down to see her face. Perhaps it was time for some shall-I-compare-thee-to-a-summer's-day, but Elizabeth embraced him, her arms around his back. Pressed up against him, he could feel her hand move to where the tiniest of __bumps was forming. Her breathing was strained, jagged, even. _

_ "Are you crying?"_

_ They kissed, her acceptance, their vows, their challenges met head-on—all wordlessly understood. They smiled, inches apart. _

* * *

><p>"We're coming up on it. This way!" Remo cried, leading them up a crunching hill that gripped their feet with every step. The varying shades of gray and white matched the dull, cloud-blanketed sky, the horizon invisible. It gave one the perception they were at a much higher altitude, Jack thought, his fingers wiggling slightly, still smothered in the Wendigo skin.<p>

Jack paused, the hard, chunky sound of footsteps trying to catch up to him. Teague, arms shaking from the weight, inhaled as he reached him.

"Be ready for anything," he huffed, so out of breath Jack could imagine with great ease that he could hear his father's heart beating. "None of this seems right."

"For once we're in agreement," Jack said. Not feeling the need to elaborate, his bottom lip fell from the top one at the wall of ice in front of them. It wasn't quite a glacier, at least based on anything he'd heard or read about them, but the grays, the whites, and even a few streaks of blue, commanded reverence. One by one, they dropped the skins, their backs creaking from the relief as they dumped them into a pile for the return trip. He pressed his hand into the sticky cold of the ice, letting it chill him. Dragging his fingers along, he walked alongside the wall, looking for the familiar pommel and grip. Graceful, quick, and beautiful, Remo used to say about the swan. And dangerous. Always dangerous. Jack laughed under his breath. It seemed that's how he preferred his swans anyway...

There it was, about five inches of the blade protruding out from the wall, the design of a swan's head and feathers. It rested about four feet from the ground, thrust in at a downward angle, waiting for someone to come along.

"Grab it and let's go," Teague barked. "Before it's too late."

"Oh! Now!" Remo caressed the swan's neck with his fingertips. "Perhaps it should be destroyed. I once thought it would never be found here, and now..."

"And now it's mine!"

Jack, Teague, Remo, and Titus looked to see Alberich and a half dozen soldiers behind him, swords in one hand, hazy red torches in the other.

"Hand it over," Alberich said, taking a dramatic step forward, his hand reaching out for it. "Hand it over before they come."

"Let's consider those words, shall we?" Jack said, placing his hands on his belt and swaggering over to him. He maintained a confident smirk, distracting Alberich from his hand inching closer and closer to his holstered pistol. "After all it's not often we want the same thing, eh? I know I'm in no mood to be torn limb from limb, nor inclined to join their very primal and oh so very Wendigo-esque ranks, and we're similar in that, I'd wager. Aren't we?" All he had to do was stretch out his arm and free Cygnus from its bonds. Jack played out the entire scenario in his mind. He'd draw his pistol, fire at the same time he'd pull the sword...and experience a firing squad firsthand, he thought, his lip twitching, which is plain bad any way you slice it. Cocking his head at the others, he winked.

Teague placed his hands on his hips, hopefully so he could draw his pistol, Jack thought. For one moment, their expressions matched, an unspoken truce called in favor of the greater good. He just hoped he could wait until the opportune moment.

"Do you know how long I've waited to take you down?" Alberich growled at him, glowering up from beneath a lowered brow.

"Not that I'm incapable of carrying a grudge, but in your case, it really was letting bygones be bygones."

"No. Not for me. If you think I'm going to be humiliated by a grubby, bastard street urchin turned pirate twice..." Unable to control his voice, Alberich cut himself off by drawing his sword and taking a wide swing at Jack. Teague crossed right in front and blocked, allowing Jack to fire into the small mob of lackeys. Remo and Titus reached for their swords, the scraping and clanging fading away for Jack, who turned and tried to focus on freeing Cygnus. Setting his hands around the swan, he tightened his grip and pulled.

A thick rasping sound followed by the blade of a sword coming down right in front of his fingers interrupted him. Alberich, elevated by standing in a small foothole on the ice wall, swung at him again, bloodlust and pride making up for however much grace and agility he'd had before.

"I'll tear you to ribbons yet, Sparrow!"

"You're taking this all way too personally, mate!" From the corner of his eye, Jack could see shadows rustling in the distance. Bugger.

"I lost my ear because of you!"

"I was a boy!"

"More like a stain that should have never been in the first place!" Alberich grunted. Leaping back from another chaotic swing, Jack found a few notches in the wall and climbed up. High enough to look out, he saw Titus pick up one of the soldiers and hurl him into another one. Remo still fought with the same embellished style as he'd always fought; the years hadn't changed it at all. The figures out on the horizon were closer, but still shadows, still at a distance where the whole endeavor wouldn't be a fool's errand. Jack wished he could remember if Remo had told them how fast they could run.

A shot brought him back to the present. Smoke wafted up into the pale air from Teague's pistol...and from the tail of Alberich's coat. Spotting a gnarled tree near the top of the wall, Jack threw off his coat and lassoed it with the sleeves. Holding on, he made a swinging motion and kicked Alberich. The man recovered his balance, though, and scampered to the top.

"It's over now, Sparrow," Alberich said, climbing to his feet, sword pointed straight down at Jack. "Cygnus is mine."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Moving in single file to hide their numbers is taken from _Star Wars. _****"...glowering up from beneath a lowered brow" is paraphrasing Roger Ebert's description of the "Kubrick Stare," noting it is a favorite closeup of director Stanley Kubrick. This chapter and the next one are sort of concurrent. You'll see what I mean when I post it. I'm not crazy about the different multiple viewpoints/narrative structure I chose for this story, so to keep up with the pattern, I had to split the action this way. Anyway, there's not a whole lot left, so I hope you're enjoying it!**


	18. Elizabeth IV

Elizabeth rifled through every drawer, turned over everything she could find, but nothing, not even a few black candlesticks she'd found were able to break the glass of the portholes in the back of the cabin. Growling, she paced a lap around, her fingers clenching her hair. It had been so easy to break out of the _Dauntless_, the portholes large and left unlocked, sheets durable and easy to knot. Teague just managed to think of everything...

"Poppet?" Elizabeth ran to the door.

"Pintel? Pintel, can you get me out of here?"

"We think we got somethin' that'll right do the trick."

"See, we've got a skeleton key," Ragetti snickered.

"That's wonderful! What are we waiting for?"

"Well, you, you may want to back up a little," he said.

"Why?" Her eyes widened.

"Well, it's not, it's not so much a skeleton key..."

"It's really more of an ax," Pintel coughed.

"You're going to break down the door?" Elizabeth remembered a vault near her room back at Shipwreck Cove, not to mention a few gold coins still in her possession. It shouldn't take long after all this was over to buy a new one... Leaping back onto the bed, she called out, "I'm ready!"

The door thudded, a crunching sound showing chip after chip giving way. It pounded again, and Elizabeth felt as if the entire ship shook at the action. Crunch after crunch, she at last saw the blade. The door seemed to fall away, the chips longer and longer as they started to curl while they fell to the floor. Pintel and Ragetti's faces showed through.

"Hello, Poppet." He reached his arm through and they were able to pull her out through the gash.

"Did they take all the silver bullets with them?" she asked, finding her crossbow where she'd left it.

"We still got our pistols on us," Pintel said.

"And a few torches. Mr. Benedetti said fire keeps them away, too," Ragetti added.

"Light these with the lamps." She picked up the torches. "Step to! They couldn't have gotten very far."

* * *

><p>They ran in the frozen nothingness, the footprints easy to follow. Her cheeks stung almost as much as her nose, the crackling of the torches and Pintel and Ragetti's huffs and puffs the only sound for what felt like miles. Unsure if the black at her sides were trees rushing by or the creatures, Elizabeth narrowed her vision to straight in front of her, the footprint-made path bringing her closer and closer to Jack.<p>

The run lasted an agonizing eternity. Her heart felt ready to burst from her chest, the key bouncing on it more like a stone crushing her with every drop. Sounds of fighting, screams, could be heard.

"Come on!" she panted to her knights, or to herself. "Keep going!" Trudging up an incline to a large wall of ice, Titus was the first to see her, taking time to wave after a swift punch that knocked a soldier off his feet. Bounding over to her, he lifted her off the ground with his crushing hug.

"I can't breathe," she wheezed, loud enough for him to loosen his grip. "Keep holding them off," she told him, scanning the fray for Jack. Her eyes glanced upwards to find him near the top of the wall, above a metallic patch she deduced was Cygnus. He was struggling to the top. "Pintel! Ragetti! Up there!" she called to them, sprinting to the wall and preparing her crossbow. The movement was too much, she thought, crestfallen at the fact. She had to keep Alberich still. "Alberich!"

He met her gaze from the top of the wall, sword still in hand, his face frozen in a sneer.

"Your men are defeated. Come down here and I won't release this bolt."

"Honor before reason from a pirate? Is that what this is?" he shouted back down to her, a grin spreading on his face.

"Come down and I won't release this bolt," she said again, her finger ready. Pintel and Ragetti were halfway up the wall.

"You know, I didn't have the time or freedom before, but I just remembered I have this." From his holster, he pulled out a pistol.

"No!" Pintel cried.

"You can't do that! She's pregnant!" Ragetti shouted to him with a hoarse voice. Elizabeth and Pintel looked over at him.

"How do you know..." Pintel asked, still in climbing position.

"It's a bit obvious, don't you think?" Ragetti shrugged. They continued their climb.

"Pregnant?" Alberich laughed. "On second thought..." He pointed the barrel of his pistol down from her head to her legs. "It would be quite nice to have a cabin boy, a ready-made orphan with nowhere else to go. And I suppose we could find a use for a girl...once she was older..." He took aim.

Jack launched himself up the top of the wall and fired his pistol all within the blink of an eye. Alberich's pistol flew from his hand, now covered in blood. He was a second too late in drawing his sword, Jack smacking it away with his own. Now, Elizabeth decided, closing one eye and taking aim.

Just then, piercing screams echoed all around her. Elizabeth spun around to see one with her own eyes, a Wendigo, towering over her with frozen foam stuck to a grotesquely wide mouth. It roared with unbelievable power. Gasping, she took frantic steps backward, trying to steady the crossbow for the creature. The sword, she thought. Turning and breaking into a run, she raced to where Cygnus still remained stuck. Slamming into the wall, she ripped her hands from the ice and grabbed the pommel. Twisting and pulling with all her might, Cygnus jostled until she wrenched it free.

It felt heavy in her hands, due to the importance of it or her condition she didn't know. Her muscles remembered the year of training in the Port Royal smithy, drunken degenerates in Tortuga, enraged chimeras of sea creatures on the _Flying Dutchman—_she could do this.

The Wendigo swiped at her with a massive arm, but she was able to dodge. It roared, or at least it was as loud as a roar, a shrill mixture of tongue rolling and grunting. The sound seemed to grow louder and louder as it tried to advance her again. Elizabeth hacked at it, fighting the urge to hold the sword with both hands. She could hear Will scolding her. The key tapped on her heart when she twisted, gaining her composure. Part of the arm, part of the arm, she reminded herself, using the same technique she would use on any opponent, only with more force. It held up its arms to defend its gargantuan head. Her eyes latched onto the movement, the entirety of the creature reduced to a stream of moving parts. For the future, she thought, nodding and growling her way closer to it like a wolverine, finally ramming Cygnus up into the beast's throat.

Elizabeth scrambled back on her hands and knees, averting her eyes from the direction of the gagging, the wet coughs graduating to desperate wheezes. Her arm flew over her abdomen, shielding...him? Him, she thought, her shoulders relaxing for a fraction of a second.

Turning back towards the beast, one eye shut, she breathed a sigh of relief that it lied unmoving. Jack. From the angle, she couldn't see him or Alberich, but could hear a fight in progress.

"Come on then!" Ragetti slid back down the wall until he stood right in front of her. Kneeling down, he interlocked his fingers and placed his hands, palms up, out in front of him. Elizabeth placed a reluctant foot in them.

"You wouldn't be the first one to use me to break a fall," he said with a self-deprecating chuckle, glancing upward. The boost was enough for her to climb unassisted, bolstered with the knowledge Ragetti was right behind her. Her hands felt big, her limbs strong, a sword that could kill anything in the world sheathed at her side—Elizabeth embraced her quickening heartbeat. It was too cold to sweat, she noted. At last she could see sky, the top of the wall.

Jack sat straddled across the older man, trying to pin down an arm with his knee. The blades of their swords were so close they could scarcely even break them apart. Elizabeth's hand flew to Cygnus.

"No!" Alberich grunted, shoving Jack off of him. Leaping to his feet, he advanced towards her, readying his sword. "I will not have some straggly harlot touching that sword!"

Elizabeth smirked, seeing Jack rise behind Alberich, pistol drawn. Coolly, with more than a hint of fire in her eyes, she said, "I'm a governor's daughter, actually."

The shot rang out. The vast openness of the region made it echo for what sounded like miles. Alberich slumped to the ground four feet in front of her, blood covering most of the back of his head. She squinted at the sight, still sickened and remorseful of bloodshed. With a kick, she thought, she could send him over the side. Blinking at how those two thoughts shouldn't be in succession of each other, she looked up at Jack, arm straight with his pistol still in front of him, fresh smoke wafting above the barrel.

"It is all about making the other man dead before you, isn't it?" she asked, repeating his own words back to him, thanking him with her eyes. His look of concern relaxed into amusement.

"Fortunately, I do have a bit of skill in that."

She ran to him and flung her arms around him. Warmth. Safety. Life. The front corner of his hat poked down at her forehead, they stood so close, his face trailing hers and searching for eye contact. He embraced her tighter, and then looked down at the sword.

"Circumstances dictate we be more prudent in regards to the final resting place of that."

"More will be back for it?" She couldn't imagine...

"The Royal Navy thought Alberich was an inept blowhard when I knew him, but they were also smarter then," he said, rolling his tongue inside his mouth. He peered over the edge of the wall. "Remo?"

"Jack! Do you see? Do you see the creature _bellezza _has brought down? After all these years you can see what the Sword of the Swan can do, eh?" He unleashed a gleeful laugh and paced around, unsure what to do with himself. "Come down so I can hold it one more time before we weigh it down and drop it into the ocean."

"Great minds think alike!" Jack yelled back down to him. Placing his arm around Elizabeth, he started for the edge of the wall with a limp. "What say you to somewhere warmer to consummate our upcoming nuptials, eh? Unless you like the idea of frostbite." He grimaced at the touch of the ice on his hand. "Because for what I'm imagining, there would be a great deal of slipping..."

"Describe that to me," she laughed, blushing at his grin.

* * *

><p>She'd refused to leave the deck, standing as close to the bowsprit as possible to let all the sun shine down on her face. She could feel the warmer air already, although her imagination was what made it so. Sunshine and fire, sparkling waters and southern breezes awaited her. Awaited all of them, she corrected herself, placing both her hands on her abdomen. My son. She was sure now. Feeling eyes upon her, she turned around to see Teague making his way down the deck.<p>

"I thought you'd be on your ship by now," she said.

"Anamaria's still dealing out the orders to the crew she and them captured," he said. "It gives me time to make sure the _Pearl _isn't going to sink on the way back." He gazed out to sea for a moment, next to her. "Where is 'back' for you, anyway?"

"Right here," she said, fighting to maintain a professional smile. "Jack and I will be married at the first port we come to." She bit her lip, hoping she hadn't just caused more friction between them. From the corner of her eye, she could see him nod, his eyes softening. A slow snicker erupted from him.

"What's a father to do when a child finally starts a string of good decisions?" he sighed.

Elizabeth cleared her throat and placed her hands behind her back.

"My father was killed before he could see me get married." Both times, she could have clarified, but didn't.

"Don't let it trouble you too much now," he said. "Dwelling on the past is worse than remembering it, if ye get my meaning. And I'm sure your father can be able to see it from somewhere."

So surprisingly talkative, Elizabeth thought, her eyes widening. Chin up, back straight, she took on a regal stance.

"Will you give me away then?"

She met his eyes, not as black as Jack's, but a solid, perceptive brown touched to the very core. Keeping her own face impersonal, haughty, her enemies would have said, she waited. He swallowed, his lips pursing in search of words. Second after second passed. At last he licked his lips.

"Yes," he whispered. Elizabeth beamed and hugged him, forcing him to shoot a leg out for balance.

"Certain you don't want one of your gallant knights to do it?"

"You're the only one who crossed my mind," she said, suddenly searching the deck. "I haven't seen them, now that you mention it." Teague laughed. "Where are they?"

"You're soon-to-be husband locked them in the brig for what they did to the door."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Big thanks to everyone who has left a review. I've tried to respond to all of them, so I apologize if I missed one. There's not much else to say except to expect an update around this time next week.**


	19. Teague IV

Ruckus. Teague sat at an uneven table with a stein of rum within his reach. He'd always known the northern colonies to be a practical, overworked lot with a spartan lifestyle to match. Not so with New York. Arriving to the tavern after a modest ceremony escalated into a drinks-all-around free-for-all that could put parts of the Caribbean to shame. The poor lighting and the effect this particular amount of rum had on his eyes made everyone blend together for him. Skirts and coats and shadows blurred together in delirious celebration.

"Teague."

Anamaria stood before him, her hands on her hips. "I'm off."

"All the way to Tortuga by yourself?"

"No, not yet. There's still some pirating I need to do." She smiled to herself. "It's high time I remembered I'm not just my brother's sister, isn't it?"

"High time." Rising, he kissed her cheek. "God speed."

"God speed." Waving to him, she disappeared back into the blur.

Gibbs and Titus whirred by, the former rambling on and on about something Teague did not relish giving his full attention to, so he sat back and let his head rest against the wall, pondering, making each memory of the day truly his.

* * *

><p><em>"Well, I hope ye don't mind too much about going behind your back and all," Gibbs had said as he, Jack, and Teague stood along the outside of the church. <em>

_ "What did you do that was behind my back?" Jack asked. Teague leaned forward._

_ "Why, all the matchmaking, of course! Getting the two of ye alone together, havin' you touch. Had to put the idea in your heads somehow!" Gibbs sputtered with the zeal of one of these ministers up here, Teague thought, tilting his head._

_ "Put the idea in our heads," Jack repeated, a smirk spreding on his face. Here we go, Teague thought._

_ "Sure, Jack. It, it was for your benefit, both of yours," he stuttered as Jack came a little closer to him. "The idea was to be stealthy about it, you know. So you'd take no notice."_

_ "You did succeed there," Jack said, his fingers playing in a bowl. "Is this rice?" He waited for Gibbs to nod and then threw a handful at him. _

* * *

><p>"You two! Over here!" Teague motioned for Pintel and Ragetti to come over to him. His eyes popped at the sight of a woman on each of their arms, painted up and staggering drunk, but there. "What business have the two of you with ladies such as these?"<p>

"They approached us!" Pintel shouted, nearly jumping up and down. "Said we had the best stories around and they'd never heard any of 'em before! I told you that island with the bear would be the best one." He elbowed Ragetti, who spilled some of his drink. "They say they spent some time in France!"

"I don't even know what exactly that means!" Ragetti said excitedly.

"Well, then don't let an old man keep you," Teague said. "I had just wanted to know if you knew the whereabouts of our King and her consort."

"He sounds drunk!" Pintel hissed to Ragetti.

"I haven't seen them," Ragetti said, suddenly dragged away by his pale, long-armed new friend.

Teague stood and dusted off his coat. Weaving through the packed tavern, the people so bunched in the antlers on the walls could touch them, he paced himself up the stairs, listening to the music grow fainter with each step.

* * *

><p><em>"Don't suppose there's any advice to be giving you."<em>

_ "I'm sure you can think of something."_

_ Jackie giving him an inch for once. Would wonders never cease, he thought, feeling the urge to straighten the lapels of his coat and stick a pipe between his teeth._

_ "Challenge accepted!" he cried, only to lose any train of thought that might have been forming. He studied his son's face, not quite like gazing into the past, but close enough, and this time a hint of...it wasn't gentility. Sincerity? It took him back to the quiet, domestic days when he'd had the sense to stay with Oria and the baby for long lengths at a time. Jackie, eyes already black, would hold up his tiny hands for Oria to nibble on. Something about the joyful laugh, the complete adoration in his eyes, hadn't left. _

_ "You have your mother's eyes."_

_ "That hardly qualifies as advice," Jack said, his head tilting._

_ "Well, it's not a crushing defeat, is it? You keep an eye on that baby. Be sure you know where it gets its eyes."_

_ "Aye."_

* * *

><p>Ah, a quiet corridor with a few mirrors and cheap paintings for company. A man could take a breath up here, he decided, lengthening his stride and stretching his arms into the air. She'd made a fine bride, Elizabeth, a simple dress the color of the sea right at sunrise off a shop dummy became her best dress by default. Washed with some of it pulled away from her face, her hair looked less like limp straw and more like gold and coffee waves. Happiness also changed a lot, he mused.<p>

* * *

><p><em>"Are you ready?" Her lips were tight together as she gave him an eager nod, eyes sparkling. He jutted out his elbow, offering it out to her. He watched her mouth, twisting and licking and tucking in attempts to speak without exploding. "No robbin' the clergy afterwards, ye hear me?"<em>

_ Elizabeth laughed, her head down and staring at the floor. Daughter. The word ran around in his mind, letting him acquire a taste to it. Teague even mouthed it to himself for good measure. Nudging her, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Strange family you've decided to join," he sighed. _

_ "Thank you," she whispered, her voice steadying._

* * *

><p>Realizing someone should go order another round for all the stragglers devoted to staying until the establishment booted them out, he turned, but stopped in mid-step, his hands cold and smudged with dirt. One of these rooms was sure to have a basin, he thought, hurrying over to the nearest room and opening the door.<p>

The muffled scream and a boot being flung in his direction forced him to close the door with only a little more speed than he would have on his own.

"Sorry!"

"Out!"

"I am out, boy, and don't you take that tone with me!" Teague bellowed at the top of his lungs, fighting off a nigh-uncontrollable burst of laughter. With a hand over his mouth, he couldn't resist. "So that's where you've gone off to. You know, a few of our guests have been looking for you two!"

An exasperated groan answered, followed by a sarcastic, "Then send our regards, eh?"

"What was that? Stand guard?"

"Go!" They both shouted this time. Chuckling to himself, Teague bustled down the stairs, only to come face to face with Remo Benedetti, red-faced with that little twinkle of rum in his eyes.

"Teague! Congratulations, you, how is it they say...coot!" He gave him a hearty slap on the back. "May God grant you a slew of grandchildren." Before he could retort that the rate they were going, that would be here sooner than later, Remo continued. "I was wondering what your plans were before returning to Shipwreck Cove."

"Why? Are we talking a business proposition?"

"Precisely."

Teague blinked.

"I know a place, Bavaria, where we are sure to find an adventure or two." He winked at him. "What do you think, hmm? I pay for passage back to Italy and we cross into the dark forest of many a twisted tale. Might stumble upon a witch or two, or a talking donkey. Have you ever been there?"

"To Italy," Teague coughed. "Not Bavaria."

"Never a better time to start a new chapter in one's life than when one's children are also doing so, I say. Come, Captain Teague! Let's drink to new beginnings and see more of the world." He held up a goblet and waited for him with arched eyebrows and an anticipatory grin. Eons seemed to pass.

"Why not?" Teague laughed, finding a discarded glass and clinking it against Remo's. "To new beginnings."

* * *

><p>Four Years Later:<p>

The tired crew pressed on, the weight of the chests and casks making the journey back to the ship nigh unbearable. And yet it was the very same loot that lightened their spirits. Weeks of searching, trailing false lead after false lead, finally culminated in a boon the _Black Pearl_'s crew had not seen for ages.

"Why's we the ones haulin' the heaviest thing?" Pintel grunted from behind the chest to Ragetti, who was carrying the other end.

"Because everyone must pull his or her weight and since I am the only one carrying a full person's weight..." Jack gestured to Billy on his back. "That frees deckhands to haul the rest, namely you and that." Turning back around, he left them.

"I knew there was a reason," Ragetti panted.

"Think nothing of it, gents," Gibbs said. "Once all this is dealt out, you can buy yourself some vacation time."

"They'll do nothing of the sort. I'm surprised at you, Mr. Gibbs, putting ideas in their heads."

"Why not?" Billy asked, leaning over, skewing Jack's hat.

"Of course they can buy a vacation," Elizabeth said, meeting Jack's bemused face with a smirk. "We would just miss them while they were gone." She adjusted the bulky bag flung over her shoulder and caught up to them. "Do you have him all right?"

"We're managing, aren't we?" He waited for her to come closer. "Oh, dear, he's suddenly become a burden. Oh! Oh!" Billy laughed as Jack pretended to dump him onto his mother before hoisting him back up. "Should have come up on her by now, hadn't we?"

"It does seem longer than it did, but that's because we have all this." If only she believed her own words, she thought, feeling what she sensed Jack felt, a knot-tying uneasiness based half on possibility and half on experience. "Here. Be a good helper and carry this for me." She handed Billy a string of beads.

"These are for girls."

"You can trade them for something at a market soon," she sang, smiling at how quickly he perked up, his mouth rounding out in anticipation.

"Haven't we passed where we anchored the ship?" Gibbs came upon them, frowning.

"We were just discussing that," she whispered. "Jack?"

"We have indeed passed it," he said after a beat, his tongue rolling around in his mouth. Setting Billy down, he took out his spyglass and surveyed the area around the small island.

"Pick me back up!" Billy stretched out his arms.

"Hold on, lad."

"Please?"

Jack didn't answer, his face contorting in a way Elizabeth decided must be deciding whether to be enraged or tactical. Whatever it was, they would have to get back to the longboat...

"Let's try to speed up," she suggested.

"You can set the loot down, love. We have another matter that is much more pressing ahead." Handing her the spyglass, she peered into it to see black sails sailing further and further away. Closing one eye, she squinted for signs of a crew, only to find the smug, triumphant smirk of Barbossa, having the audacity to wave to her, no less!

"That, that..."

"Seconded," Jack said. They exchanged a look and turned back to the others. "Who's ready to go for a little swim?"

END

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I consider myself bad at writing weddings, fairly good at receptions. That's the more interesting one, really. I hope no one minds. Yes, it is this trip to Bavaria where Teague will meet Maike (see _A Very Sparrow Christmas_), but they don't marry until a few years later. Thank you to everyone who has read the story, especially those who have favorited it and/or left reviews. I appreciate it. And don't worry. They get the _Pearl _back. This is shortly before _The Story of the Sparrow Child _and _A Very Sparrow Christmas _if you're keeping track. Hope you enjoyed it!**


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